


The Other Ranger

by silmarilz1701



Series: The Fëanoriel Chronicles [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: But also very not Tenth Walker, Elladan third wheels, F/M, Feanorian, Fourth Age, Harad, History Repeats, Khand, Silmarillion History, Tenth Walker, Third Age, nurn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 105
Words: 134,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarilz1701/pseuds/silmarilz1701
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miril has been raised by Halbarad of the dúnedain after her forebearers came from Arnor, and before that Numenor, and even before that from Beleriand. She is destined for things she doesn't quite comprehend yet. Though a seasoned ranger already, having faced the trials of the North for nearly 40 years, things hardly get easier with age.</p><p>But before she can step into her own story, she journeys with her best friends, the twin sons of Elrond, running errands leading up to the War of the Ring. Her love of battle and craving for revenge for a death in her past leads to a discovery coming to light that most thought should've been kept hidden.</p><p>When she starts having strange dreams about a swan ship, and oathbreaker, and a shining jewel, things just get crazier.</p><p>Internal timeline will stretch from beginning of Lord of the Rings into the Fourth Age post War of the Ring with flashbacks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First 20 chapters awaiting rewriting/editing since they're from 2014. Please keep that in mind.

Míril sat with her legs dangling from a small tree at the camp's entrance. As usual, she was waiting for Halbarad, Aragorn, and Eldir to return. Though only her adopted father, Míril loved Halbarad greatly, but it was her brother Eldir who was her best friend.

To her nine year old mind, her twenty-one year old brother was everything. Eldir was her protection, her strength, her courage. He told her stories of their mother and father, Gilrin and Orelon, and he praised her left and right. The only thing that Eldir and Míril disagreed on was whether or not she could become a ranger. Her brother forbid it, saying he would not be responsible for her death. Míril, on the other hand, was adamant about joining the fight, and was quick to point out how Eldir put himself in danger constantly as a ranger.

The sound of shouting pulled Míril from her thoughts and she strained to see what was happening. Quite a few grown-ups had gathered near the camp entrance and they were blocking her view. Finally she caught a glimpse of what they were looking at.

Blood. Whatever it was was covered in blood. Maybe it was a particularly large animal that had been caught? No, that couldn't be it, someone was crying. That's when she recognized Aragorn. He looked beat up with scrapes and bruises and a nasty looking head wound. But at least it didn't look fatal. At last Míril found Halbarad. He looked little better than Aragorn, and Míril thought that both men were acting rather strangely. Pulling her gaze away from them, she looked further for Eldir. Surely he was there somewhere.

The crowd parted and the dunedain went their seperate ways. Some followed the two injured men to help care for them. Some stayed with the bloody shape. And still others were pushing children into houses or around corners.

Míril didn't believe what she was seeing. She couldn't. But she found herself sliding out of the tree and walking slowlt towards the body. For body it was. Eldir, chest torn and face clawed, was lying on the ground in a pool of blood. She stood about ten paces away, blocking out the world around her. Míril didn't notice the women coming with cloth to wipe up the blood and clean the body. She merely stared at her brother's unmoving form.

Then all of a sudden she closed her eyes and screamed. They were red with unshed tears as Míril turned away and walked, then ran, from the dreadful scene. The other men and women watched sadly as she took off.

Aragorn and Halbarad sat silently in a tent, their injuries being treated. They jumped when a sound so full of agony and hopelessness came from outside. Both men looked helplessly at each other, knowing exactly who belonged to that horrible scream but not knowing what to do about Míril.

"Should we tell her?" Halbarad asked Aragorn as the two were left alone in the tent to rest.

"Do you really think it'd be a good idea," Aragorn replied, a sarcastic tone to his voice.

Halbarad grunted in agreement, "Then what will we tell her?"

Míril collapsed in a corner of camp from exhaustion, her face flushed red from crying. She huddled into a ball and trying not to think about what she'd seen.

Míril was hidden from most of the rangers and they gave the girl her space. After all, most of them knew the pain she was going through; They knew she would recover in time. The Dunedain would be there for her.


	2. Well Met

Míril was getting worried. Gandalf hadn't been seen for a very long time, but even more worrisome was his lack of contact. In fact, if not for the message Gildor Inglorian was spreading, she wouldn't even have known that things weren't going according to plan.

What if Aragorn hadn't heard? She knew he was watching the roads but he couldn't be everywhere at once! The halfling was leaving the Shire without a guide. But the most dire of all the news was that the Nazgûl were on his trail. She'd heard whispers and rumors that four riders had attacked the Prancing Pony the previous night.

That was why Míril was in Bree. Indeed, she found the town in an uproar. Stolen horses, disappearing hobbits, and black riders in the night.

"And that there Strider too! Those four hobbits taking up with a folk like that ain't right, I says. And I means what I says," a hobbit called Mugwyrm or Mugwort or something was telling three other hobbits.

Strider! She breathed a sigh of relief. At least Aragorn was with the halflings. Míril decided she had time to grab a pint at the Prancing Pony before setting off to find the little group. She threw back her hood, revealing her beautiful chocolate brown hair that fell loosly about her shoulders. She stepped inside the inn and turned to walk into the common room when she was rudely interrupted.

"Get out, pointy ears," a man of normal height spat at her feet. He and his buddies were blocking the door way.

"Excuse me?" Míril blinked in surprise.

"We've had enough of you rangers. All you do is cause trouble," another patron of the inn exclaimed from behind the three men.

"I am sorry, but I need to ask you to leave before violence breaks out," Barliman Butterbur said from behind her.

Míril narrowed her eyes, "Very well. But might I ask where Ar- Strider was headed?"

"I'm afraid I can't remember! Honest! Ask around. Maybe ol' Nob knows!" Butterbur turned to a hobbit .

"You needed me sir?" Nob asked.

"Where'd old Strider head off to?"

"Oh just follow the road past Bill Ferny's house."

Míril nodded and dropped a few coins on the counter for their services before leaving the inn. She followed the path out of Bree and towards Archet, scanning the road for tracks. They weren't too difficult to find, but Míril was surprised that they were on the road.

Laughter caused Míril to turn around as she passed Bill Ferny's house. There the old man was, grinning at her mischievously from his porch and laughing.

"Hello, Pointy Ears! Leaving Bree so soon?"

"Find something better to do, Ferny," she sighed.

Ferny just laughed again, "What are you going to do? Stick me to death with those ears?"

Míril turned away and kept walking.

"That's right. Run to your boyfriend and the halflings!" he shouted after her.

"Boyfriend? Really?" Míril rolled her eyes and said under her breath, "Aragorn is old enough to be my uncle!"

She almost missed the point at which the faint trail she was following veered off into the woods.

"Midgewater Marshes," she groaned, "Of course he'd take them that way."

Straightening up, Míril put her hood back over her head and ducked into the trees. She had a job to do, and couldn't let her fear of the neeker-breekers stop her, no matter how much she hated them.

As she walked, she reflected on her fear of bugs. She'd always been afraid of them, at least for as long as she could remember. Míril used to make Eldir squish any bug that was inside the house or near her. Yet now as a ranger she needed to steel herself and prepare to enter those infamous marshes.

It took two days of walking before Míril exited the Chetwood and came upon the marshes. Suddenly her foot sank into the ground, water pooling around it.

"Found the swamp," Míril grumbled as she struggled to pull her foot out.

Grabbing a thick, long stick she used it to poke the ground in front of her. This way she hoped to avoid the stinking pools of marsh water and make quick time. She had no doubt that Aragorn knew these paths well, much better than she did, and therefore she was loosing time on them.

A large fly buzzed past her ear, causing Míril to give a gasp and almost trip. Once more she prayed to Iluvatar for help.

"Lady Yavannah, help me endure you and your sister's creatures that abode in this foresaken marsh," Míril muttered, regaining her balance.

She considered praying to Oromë for help, because he might help her hunt them away, but then she reflected on how stupid that idea was. No, she'd need to do this the hard way.

She decided to set up camp around midnight. The neeker-breekers were intensely loud, the gnats were simply intolerable, and she was tired. Míril decided that building a fire was necessary and worth any risk. Besides, she was so far out, who would see it? Aragorn? That would save her a lot of trouble anyways!

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After another day of walking, Míril was relieved to find herself on solid ground. She'd gotten out of the marshes and figured it'd best to keep walking for as long as she could in the dark. Sticking to the faint but ever-present trail, Míril continued on.

She wasn't worried about loosing the trail. She new the path well that Aragorn was following. Unmarked and unrecorded, yet known to most rangers, it was specifically designed to be as obscure and secretive as possible.

After hours of walking, she fancied she saw a fire. Small and dim, but still present, it was next to a small stream and under some alder trees. Drawing her long knife, Míril krept quietly forward, her dark clothing shrouding her in the shadows. She didn't want to take any chances. Peering into the gloom she decided that if they were orcs, they wouldn't use a fire. She'd have to risk getting the men's attention.

"Mae govannen, mellon," she spoke aloud.

Instantly the unsheathing of a sword was heard and a figure leaped up from behind the fire. In response, Míril also drew her shortsword and stepped out from hiding behind a lone tree. Bringing her sword up, she just had time to block her attacker's swing. Míril pushed back with all her might and managed to get free from her imprisonment between sword and tree. Swinging her sword at the man's torso, she found her arm exposed. Before she could pull it back, the larger man had pinned her arn against the tree trunk and knocked the blade from her grasp.

Using her left hand, Míril drew her long knife but before she could twist her right arm free, the attacker used his weight to crush her against the tree. As she crumpled to the ground she barely noticed that the man didn't finish her off.

Suddenly she felt bright light on her face as a torch was brought by some newcomer. She gave grunt and closed her eyes tight against the blaze. She vaguely realized that a sword was being used to push back her cloak hood.

"Míril?!"

"Yes."

"I had no idea it was you!'

"Evidently."

She opened her eyes and found Aragorn crouched down in front of her. He took her hands in his and smiled.

"Sorry about that," he grimaced, helping her up, "How bad did I hurt you?"

"Nothing too bad. Just a sore wrist," she assured him.

"Good," he nodded, "Now. What in the Valar's names are you doing here?"

Míril smirked but then her fave grew grave, "Looking for you. I'd gotten word from Inglorian about the halflings."

"Strider! Who's that?" a new voice chipped in. Both rangers turned to see four hobbits all standing next to the fire, obviously ill at ease, two with weapons drawn.

"Míril, a friend and fellow ranger," Aragon told the four friends, "so you and Sam can put away your swords, Pippin."

Míril smiled and bowed to the hobbits slightly. She winced and slid back down the tree to a sitting position, grabbing at her side and struggling to catch her breath.

"Guess I'm hurt a bit more than just a sprained wrist," she tried to joke lightly.

Aragorn frowned, "Come on, let's get you over by the fire. Halbarad would never forgive me if I didn't fix you up."

She nodded and, with Aragorn's support, hobbled over to the campfire. The hobbits watched carefully. Aragorn slid the other ranger's shirt up so he could examine her torso. There was already a nasty black bruise beginning to form on the side he had bashed against the tree.

"Could have been worse," she tried to remind a guilty looking Aragorn.

The older man gave her a raised eyebrow before reaching into a nearby pack and pulling out some torn rags. He used water from the heated pot they'd hung over the fire to soak these rags and then wiped her sore. As soon as it was dry, Aragorn took some longer, dry rags and wrapped them around Míril's torso.

"Thanks," she smiled.

Aragorn nodded and sat back, "I thought you were busy near Lake Evendim? Checking out leads on the matter we'd discussed?"

Míril nodded, "I was, but as of a few weeks ago the trail went cold and I lost sight of them. None of the residents around their had any useful information, so I alerted most of the local companies to keep an eye out. They know to send me word of any activity up there. Any news of my father?"

"I had Halbarad in charge of the Shire patrols while I was away. When I came back, he took a small group of men farther north. He wanted to scout out around Lake Uial since you were taking care of Lake Evendim," Aragorn explained to her. He waited for Míril to continue her tale.

"Well anyways, as I was on my way through the Shire, I ran into Gildor's party. They told me that Gandalf was missing, and that some hobbits were leaving the Shire. Worst of all," she lowered her voice, "he told me that at least one of the Nine had crossed the river. Is it true, Aragorn? I heard rumors in Breeland and near the Prancing Pony too."

"Yes, it is," he nodded seriously, "Four attacked us while we stayed there some nights ago. Fortunately I found Mr. Baggins and his company before that."

Míril turned to the hobbits once again and smiled, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Peregrine Took, those most call me Pippin," answered the young, sandy-haired hobbit that had spoken earlier.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, or Merry for short," the brown headed one next to Pippin told her.

"Sam Gamgee, ma'am," said the slightly more plump one.

Finally a hobbit with dark hair and a serious expression spoke, saying, "I am Frodo Baggins."


	3. Familiar Memories

"Indeed," she murmured. Míril's bright blue-grey eyes peered into Frodo's gaze and searched his face for answers. Finding no lies or deceit there, she tore away her stare and returned her attention to Aragorn.

"Any news from Mithrandir, Aragorn?"

He shook his head no, "None. It seems that some news must have reached him while I was away and unable to help. When I came back I rushed to find the hobbits."

"Excuse me, Strider, but who is this?" Frodo interrupted, staring suspiciously at Míril.

"She is Míril Lôminzil, which is Night-Flower in the common tongue. She is a ranger, like I am," Aragorn explained.

"Lôminzil means night-flower," she elaborated, "Míril is my given name, and that means Shining Jewel."

Pippin cocked his head to the side, "Are you an elf?"

Míril laughed softlt and subconsciously her hand went to her ear, "No, not fully. I am part elf, however. My parents were killed when I was very young, and Aragorn's friend and respected ranger of the Dunedain, Halbarad, took us in as children. Me and my brother, that is."

"We should get some rest. I'll stay guard for the rest of the night," Aragorn announced.

"I won't fight you on this one," Míril nodded, shifting herself onto her back and using the pack she'd brought along as a pillow. She was asleep in no time, having walked since daybreak almost without stopping. Boy did she need the sleep!

When morning dawned, the six companions made a quick breakfast before packing up. It was decided that Míril would journey with them until further notice.

"It has been too long since I visited the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond in Rivendell," she commented wistfully.

"You've been to Rivendell?" Frodo asked, surprised.

Míril nodded, "I lived there for a few years, learning from the elves. Because I am half-elven, I wanted to learn about that side of my ancestory."

"One thing I don't quite understand is how you were able to catch us, if you really were a full day behind us," Sam pondered aloud.

"My elf ancestory gives me enhanced stamina. I can go longer periods of time without sleep or food, so I walked straight through many of the nights."

They began the day's journey soon after this. Aragorn took up the lead, asking Míril to act as rear guard. Frodo remained near to Aragorn for the majority of the day, except at one point where he dropped back to ask Míril a question.

"I've been wondering," he began hesitantly, "Since you have ancestors both mortal and immortal, which are you?"

"A fair question," she nodded, shaking some dead leaves off her foot as she walked, "In a sense, I am both. As far as I know, I will die a mortal's death. It is, however, true that I have aged slower than most men. Go on, guess my age."

Frodo was caught off guard by the question. He looked at her face and furrowed his brow in thought.

"I'd say you were no older than 20," Frodo guessed eventually with a frown. In fact, that was one thing that had confused him. She looked much too young to be of any help to them.

"A good guess. But I am, in fact, 39," she smiled.

Frodo looked at her in surprise, and then his gaze wandered to Strider. How old was he then?

Míril chuckled, "Appearances are not always what they seem."

Frodo nodded absentmindedly as he made his way back up front. Míril was obviously much more experienced than he'd assumed. And what did that make Strider? As far as he knew, Strider had no elven blood, but Frodo wasn't entirely sure.

The journey went on with out much talk for many hours. The hobbits were still not conditioned like the Rangers for the kind of heavy trekking this called for, and were often out of breath. It was about half way through the day when the Weather Hills came into view. Ruined towers and crumbling walls could be seen on the hills and ridges, testaments to a time long past.

Pippin and Merry had many questions about the ruins. Aragorn and Míril did their best to answer them. Who had built them? Why had they built them? What were they for? They camped at the foot of the Weather Hills that evening.

"Tomorrow we should reach Weathertop. It is a high ruined tower that we can take shelter in. If Gandalf comes after us, or is before us, that is where he will head," Aragorn explained.

Míril nodded, "And the path to get their is well hidden and secret."

"And if Gandalf isn't there?" Frodo asked them.

Aragorn answered the hobbit quickly, "We will make for Rivendell."

The hobbits went to sleep soon enough, leaving Aragorn and Míril to watch.

"Aragorn," Míril asked concerned, "has there been news about the other five Nazgûl?"

"No. I only know of four that crossed the River. But this doesn't mean the five have not."

"What are the odds that they have made for Weathertop?"

Aragorn looked at her grimly, "Quite high. But we have little choice."

Míril nodded. She knew this, but it didn't put her any more at ease. She'd hoped Aragorn wouldn't confirm her fears. They sat in the dark, Aragorn smoking a pipe and Míril playing with the pendant she always wore.

"Aragorn," she began some time later, breaking the silence. "I thought most of the wargs of the Misty Mountains and the Emyn Uial had been wiped out after the Battle of the Five Armies. I've been tracking these beasts for so many years, but this only just occured to me. Why are they here at all?"

Aragorn took the pipe out of his mouth and blew a smoke ring. Míril knew this as a sign that he was thinking carefully about this matter.

"Perhaps the Enemy simply wishes to extend his grasp again over the northern lands. Eradicate the Dunedain once and for all," he suggested.

Míril nodded absentmindedly. Maybe that really was all it was. Just more of the same thing. In fact, what else could it be? She'd asked a stupid question. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more.

"You need to rest, Aragorn. I'll take watch tonight."

He grudgingly agreed and soon Míril was left awake to guard the perilous company.

They headed along the path south the next morning. It was still rather early when they departed, but both of the big people deemed this necessary. The path they were on was cunningly hidden; where it would otherwise be left in the open, rocks lined the path that nonetheless blended in with the surroundings. Later in the morning, Sam treated them to a recitation of the Fall of Gil-galad. It wasn't until midday that they rested. The company found a shallow dell at the western foot of the hill.

"Frodo, Merry, come with me. We are going to scout the ruins," Aragorn announced.

"What shall we do!" Pippin shouted in dismay.

Míril laughed, "No worries, Pippin. We need to take a look around here for any sign of Gandalf!"

Aragorn shot her a look of gratitude before leading the two selected hobbits up the hill. Míril turned to Pippin and Sam.

"I'm going to take a look around here. Its possible Gandalf left a mark on the rock wall," she told them. She began to scan the face of the cliff that composed the back edge of the dell for signs of recent activity.

Pippin and Sam explored the rest of the dell. They found a stack of firewood and an old burnt out fire pit. Foot prints were all around it but the hobbits forgot to leave these and instead trampled the evidence.

"We've found something," Sam called to her.

Míril quickly jogged to where the two hobbits were and looked around at the camp site.

"Obviously this was used recently. I can't imagine much more than a week ago. Were there any foot prints?"

"Some rather big ones yes, made with large, heavy boots," Sam described to her.

She considered this for a moment. Her train of thought was interrupted when the other three members of the party returned to the dell moments later.

"Any sign of Gandalf," Míril called over to them, her tone hopeful.

"Perhaps," Aragorn tossed a rock about the size of her palm to Míril, "Take a look at that."

"It almost looks like a G rune. G and then three marks," she mused, turning it over in her hand, "Maybe Gandalf was here on October the 3rd?"

"That was our thought. Have you made progress here?"

"The hobbits found an old camp site. Firewood and a fire pit. The foot prints were trampled though."

"There's still no way to tell if it was indeed Gandalf! The marks could be messages intended for various Rangers. Its common for the Dunedain to leave such notices."

"But Aragorn, if it was Gandalf who left the rune, what would it mean," Pippin asked.

"Most likely, it would mean that he was in danger and could not wait for us. And if that is so, we need to be extra careful."

"What should we do, Aragorn?" Frodo questioned him, the concern and fear evident in his wavering voice.

"Fire. Fire is our best friend against the Black Riders. They will come, I have little doubt," he made no mention to the others of his sightings from the Weathertop ruins of the black riders approaching.

They set to building a fire, using the extra wood that Pippin and Sam had found in the dell. To distract themselves from the dark, Aragorn recited for them the Song of Beren and Luthien. They sat around the fire with their backs to the blaze, peering out into the gloom. Míril listened, her mind wandering among the linden trees and listening to the singing nightingales that were conjured up by the sad tale.

Late into the night, a shadow blacker than natural night was seen moving at the top of the dell. No one cried out. It seemed almost as if they were struck dumb. It, or they, approached, and Merry and Pippin fell to the ground, cowering in fear. Sam cried out, noticing to his horror that Frodo had disappeared. At the same time, one of the shapes leaped forward and stabbed at thin air with a drawn knife. It wailed in pain, dropping the blade.

Aragorn and Míril grabbed torches and rushed the Nazgûl. They swung at them and fought them off. Míril stabbed at one with her torch, trying to catch it's cloak on fire. The Nazgûl drew a short knife and swung, catching Míril on the cheek. The force of the blow knocked her over, and blood poured from her open cheek wound. She fell into a daze and missed the rest of the fight, struggling to remain conscious from blood loss and shock. Had she remained attentive, she would have realized that the Nazgûl had been aiming for her throat. Unlike how they approached the others, he had been trying to kill her.

Aragorn managed to force the other Nazgûl to flee with relative ease. This worried him, for he wondered why they gave up so easily. He ha little time to dwell on it though, for Sam shouted again and Aragorn turned to find Frodo on the ground, clutching his left shoulder in pain. Aragorn ran to him and quickly undid his shirt to look at the wound. As he did so, he noticed the blade of a knife sitting next to Frodo. Aragorn picked it up, and as he did so the knife blade dissolved in mid air, leaving only the hilt.

Aragorn winced and tucked it inside one of his bags, wrapped in cloth. Then he began to inspect Frodo's wound more closely.

"Míril, we need athelas."

No answer.

"Míril?!"

Everyone glanced around, trying to locate the missing ranger. Merry and Pippin immediately began searching the ground for her. Aragorn wanted to help, but Frodo was his top priority, no matter how much he cared for his best friend's adopted daughter. But as he waited for news from the two hobbits, he couldn't help thinking about the day her brother had been killed.

_"Come on! This way," Halbarad whispered, crouching forward._

_Aragorn and Eldir followed closely. They had their bows drawn, arrows fitted on the string. A large stag was ahead, and it would feed the whole ranger camp if they killed it._

_Halbarad signalled for them to stop when they reached the edge of a clearing. The stag was there, along with some does. Halbarad pulled back his bow._

_Suddenly a crash reverberated through the forest. The deer fled in terror as two huge wargs jumped into the clearing. One had an orc rider. The three evil creatures turned on the three hunters and attacked with incredible ferocity._

_The brute of the attack seemed to be on Eldir. Aragorn and Halbarad managed to kill the warg but before they realized what was happening, The orc rider had pinned Eldir down._

_"This is what happens to a descendant of the Spirit of Fire. The Great Eye destroys its enemies!"_

_Even as Aragorn swung his sword into the creature, and Halbarad shot the orc, the warg's jaws clamped down on Eldir's chest and a great ripping noise was heard. Eldir's scream quickly died out, a gurgling sound replacing it as blood clogged his throat, before swiftly sinking into ominous silence. Halbarad shouted in horror and rage, firing an arrow straight into the orc's face. It knocked the creature down and killed it. Aragorn and Halbarad made short work of the warg, but not before the beast managed to claw Eldir's face._

_Aragorn would never forget that moment. He remembered the orc's words as if they'd been spoken yesterday. Both he and Halbarad knew why Eldir had been killed- the orc's words confirmed it. But they'd never told Míril._

_"Míril can't know, Aragorn. She's too young," Halbarad insisted. It was the day after the attack, and the two men were still recovering in the tent._

_"It's up to you, my friend. But remember, the Dark Lord knows she's alive. We need to be careful."_

_"Perhaps Lord Elrond would keep her in Rivendell for a few years. Maybe throw Him off her scent?"_

_"Good idea. I'll send a letter-"_

_"Aragorn," a voice called from outside. The speaker soon appeared, drawing back the tent flap. It was a young woman. "The sons of Elrond are here. They wish to see you."_

_"Send them in."_

_Almost immediately, two men appeared from behind her and entered the tent. They had long, dark hair and grey eyes, and seemed almost identical._

_"Aragorn! What happened to you?"_

_"And you, Halbarad!"_

_"Peace, brothers. We're both fine," Aragorn reassured them. "We were attacked by servants of the Enemy while hunting."_

_"Was anyone else injured?" Elladan asked them, the two brothers sitting down on the floor with the rangers._

_Halbarad hung his head, forcing Aragorn to reply._

_"Eldir was killed. I'm fact, I'm glad your here. We have a message for you to deliver to your father."_


	4. In Need of Healing

When Merry and Pippin found her, Míril was lying on the ground. The hobbits cringed as the torch light illuminated her face and they found that half of it was red with blood.

"Strider! Strider we found her!" Merry called out.

Aragorn nodded, finishing his initial inspection of Frodo's wound. He stood up and quickly made his way to where the two other hobbits stood.

"Míril, it's Aragorn. Can you hear me?"

After a few moments, her eyes flickered open. "What..."

"Come on. Let's get you by the fire," Aragorn helped her stand and together they made it to the campfire. He sat her down, back to the wall.

"Sam, come here," he beckoned to the hobbit. Aragorn took him aside.

"Frodo was stabbed with a morgul blade. It slowly turns the victim into a shade, similar to the Nazgûl. I need a special plant to help him."

"Will it cure Mr Frodo?"

"No. But it might be able to keep him with us at least until we can reach Rivendell. The problem is that athelas grows only in certain places. Watch over Frodo and Míril, and the others. I'll come back as soon as possible."

Aragorn disappeared into the night, leaving Sam, Merry, and Pippin alone with two injured companions. Míril at least was conscious, obviously a bit out of sorts still but beginning to come 'round. Frodo was unconscious, twisting and turning in pain.

"Aragorn," she mumbled, trying to find her friend.

"He's not here right now," Pippin told her, coming over.

"Course not," she groaned, "Never is."

"Are you alright?" Merry asked her.

She grunted but pulled herself up into a sitting position. Míril assured them she was fine.

"Anyone else injured?"

"Mr Frodo," Sam replied.

Míril suddenly was wide awake. Her eyes darted around until they landed on the ring-bearer.

"How?"

"Strider said something about a morgul blade."

"Eru help us all," she whispered. Louder, she said, "No wonder Aragorn isn't here. Is he out gathering athelas?"

Sam nodded and Míril took the time to look herself over. She felt around the bandage to her cheek, trying to recall what had happened. Why did the Nazgûl go for her face? The others hadn't even been assaulted, until Aragorn attacked the black riders. Why had she?

Míril quickly took up guard and let the hobbits sleep. Though injured, her elven blood gave her more endurance, so she was perfectly fine with this. She noted that Sam did not sleep more than a few hours, and that was only after Míril threatened to send him back home. Frodo was lucky to have such devoted friends.

When Aragorn returned he found Míril kneeling by Frodo, a wet cloth in hand, wiping his wound.

"Míril! I'm glad you're up," he smiled.

She nodded in thanks, moving away from Frodo to allow Aragorn to work.

Míril went to sit by Merry and Pippin. The two hobbits were still sleeping. She thought about how much bloodshed she had seen in her life and frowned. She didn't want these hobbits to suffer like many of the Dunedain had. Peregrine Took wasn't even an adult yet! He was still in his tweens! Merriadoc was barely of age. At least Frodo was fifty, and Sam... Well Sam was devoted to his master.

Aragorn finished with Frodo's wound and wrapped it. Sam had woken up and was listening as Aragorn explained what he had done. The sun was peeping over the horizon and the older ranger motioned for Míril to wake the other hobbits.

They had a quick breakfast before packing up their gear. Frodo was too weak to walk so they unloaded Bill the pony and let the hobbit ride him. Míril and Sam took a good deal of the extra baggage and the rest was distributed to the others.

"Let's be off," Aragorn insisted.

The uninjured hobbits asked him where they were headed.

Míril glanced at Aragorn. He nodded.

"Rivendell," she smiled.

This caused much excitement among the little people. Apparently Sam had a sort of fascination with elves. He'd always wanted to see them.

"Never met an elf?" she asked, confused.

Sam shook his head, "Well, miss, I did meet that Gildor fellow and his company. But I meant elves that live in grand halls and cities, you see."

Míril smiled happily, "Elvish cities are a wonder to behold. There are few left in the world, at least of ones that are as grand as Rivendell. There's Thranduil's Halls in Mirkwood, and Caras Galadhon in Lothlorien. Oh, and perhaps one could count the Grey Havens far to the west."

"Where'd they all go?" Pippin pressed, confused.

Aragorn answered this time. "Most were lost beneath the Seas a long time ago. Many years before Rivendell or Mirkwood or Lothlorien were founded. Others became ruins from assaults."

This silenced them for a long while. The hobbits mulled over this melancholy news, trying to understand it. How could cities be sunk under the seas? It made very little sense.

It was a long day. They walked quite far, crossing the South Road and heading into the thickets. They camped there that night.

The next few days passed without any problems. Frodo's wound was healing well, but the hobbit continued to regress.

It was exactly a week later when they came to a halt. Frodo's wound had healed over but the hobbit was slowly getting worse. He seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. They had reached the South Road by mid morning.

Aragorn decided it was only safe for one of them to scout the bridge. He insisted on doing it himself.

"Man cerig," she asked him desperately.

"Boe i 'waen,"

"Aragorn, no dirweg!" Míril nodded with caution.

"N'i lû tôl."

"Gwestol?"

He nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder, "Watch over the hobbits."

With that he slunk off into the undergrowth, all but instantly disappearing into the green thickets.

"What was that about?" Pippin asked her quietly.

"Man cerig- that means 'must you'.  
"Boe i 'waen is 'it is necessary', to which I told him to be careful. He told me 'Until then', to which I asked him to promise me that."

The hobbits nodded, not fully understanding but comprehending enough to carry on.

Aragorn looked from behind his tree out at the bridge. It seemed calm enough. His heart raced, but he knew he had to try. Leaving his hiding spot, Aragorn crept out onto the bridge. Suddenly the glinting of a jewel caught his eye.

Bending down, Aragorn picked up what he realized to be an elf-stone. It was a beautiful beryl, perfectly carved and polished. Suddenly his mind raced as he remembered another elf-stone.

_"Please. Keep her safe, Ada."_

_Aragorn and Halbarad stood on Elrond's balcony, the elf pacing back and forth. His twin sons sat on a bench, watching._

_"You do realize who she is?"_

_The two rangers nodded. They knew only too well why Elrond held reservations about having her in Imladris._

_"My lord, she is but a child. And we told you what the orcs did to her brother," Halbarad insisted._

_"Father," Elrohir added, "She is almost like kin to us. You have told us of Nelyafinwë and Kanafinwë, and how they fostered you."_

_"This is true," Elrond nodded, "But I was no friend of their brothers. They were dangerous."_

_"Please, my Lord. At least allow her to stay for some while, until we can track down whatever enemies have been sent to destroy her."_

_Elrond looked out, down into courtyard below. He saw Lindir there, and Oreleth, talking with a young girl. Her brown hair was straight, reaching her lower back. It complemented her greyish blue eyes._

_"She is innocent of the deeds of her forefathers," Elladan said softly._

_Elrond exhaled and turned to face the two Dunedain rangers, "Very well. She may stay."_

_They smiled and all five went down to the courtyard below to meet with her. When they came out onto the grounds, Míril ran up to them with a huge smile._

_"Look what Lindir gave me!"_

_She showed them a beautiful aquamarine beryl that was suspended from a necklace. Halbarad knelt down in front of her._

_"That's beautiful, Míril. You thanked him?"_

_"Of course I did!"_

_"Listen, sweetie, we need to talk about something."_

Aragorn shook himself from the memory of those years long since past. He pocketed the beryl from the bridge and, glancing around to be sure it was safe, quickly made his way back to where Míril and the hobbits were hiding.

"Halt!"

"Peace, friend," Aragorn replied.

Míril lowered her sword and stood aside.

"What news of the bridge? Is it safe?" she asked concernedly.

Aragorn drew out the beryl, "I found this lying on the bridge. I think I will take it as a sign that it is safe to pass. But we should hurry."

They quickly set off towards the bridge. They were all uneasy while traveling along the main road. It felt too exposed, too vulnerable, too predictable. Nevertheless, there was no other way across, unless one traveled way up north into the Ettenmoors.

The Ettenmoors were even more dangerous than the Trollshaws. Despite its name, the Trollshaws didn't have nearly as many trolls as the Ettenmoors. Rumors of orcs and trolls in that northern area was widespread.

They reached the bridge without any trouble. Now came the crossing. Bill's horseshoes made what seemed to everyone else incredibly loud foot falls across the stone bridge. They hurried as fast as they could, eager to reach the cover of the trees.

Míril heaved a sigh of relief as they set foot on the other side. The river Mitheithel, also known as the Hoarwell, was behind them now. Turning north, the company made for the hills of the Trollshaws.

"Aragorn," Míril whispered, jogging up to be even with him, "shall I press on ahead and scout out the path? Frodo will need a rest soon."

"No. We stick together," he insisted, "But when we do stop, I need you to find us some food."

She nodded and dropped back to take up the rear. Pippin was panting as he climbed up and up. Merry needed some water. Sam was silent, leading the pony carefully along, trying not to bump Frodo.

"These towers," Merry murmured, "they make me nervous."

They all looked where he was pointing. Great ruined towers loomed up from the rock, their walls crumbling into oblivion. Míril nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Those are ruins from a time when our kin," Aragorn motioned to Míril and himself, "ruled these lands. However an evil power came down out of Angmar, and destroyed these defenses."

The hobbits looked in wonder upon the ruins. They found it difficult to imagine these old and crumbling towers once being home to men like Strider.

They stopped at the top of a hill that night in a circle of trees. Aragorn permitted them to make a small fire. Sending Míril out to get food, he set to looking after Frodo.

Míril's bow was out and she had an arrow notched on the string. Ahead of her in a small clearing was a stag, large and beautiful. Beside him where three does, two with fawns. She would not shoot the only male, nor would she shoot fawns or their mothers. Therefore she aimed her shot at the final doe, carefully pulling back her arm and then letting the arrow fly.

It struck the beast right in the neck, causing it to stumble. Quickly she notched a second arrow and sent it flying, this time killing the animal. The other deer fled, running off into the trees. She sent a quick prayer to Oromë in thanksgiving for the successful hunt.

Míril grabbed hold of the doe and slowly heaved it up. She went as quick as she could back to camp, which wasn't far, panting the entire time.

"Here," she grunted, dropping the carcass down. Aragorn chuckled at her frustrated, exhausted look.

"Heavy?"

She narrowed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. She and Aragorn got to work skinning it and cooking the meat. After the meal, Míril fell asleep quickly as Aragorn took watch.

The next four days were filled with solid climbing. The weather had turned miserably cold and wet, making it even more difficult going. Frodo was shivering and miserable. Míril and Aragorn had given up trying to keep the hobbits' spirits high. They'd had to climb up a ridge when the valley they had entered turned into a cliff face. Poor Frodo was forced off the pony, and supported by Sam, climbed on foot.

Then finally the rain stopped. The sun was out and the ground was more flat. As they continued along their way, the company began to notice that they were following a path. Merry and Pippin were farther ahead now, eager to find where it led to.

Suddenly Míril, Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam heard two screams and then the panting of feet against the ground. Merry and Pippin all but crashed into them, shouts of 'trolls!' coming from their mouths.

"Trolls?" Sam squeaked.

Aragorn and Míril looked at each other in surprise. They snuck forward, hiding behind a rock. But Aragorn laughed quickly and walked straight up to the trolls and whacked one with a stick, "Get up, old stone!"

Nothing happened. The first to realize their mistake was Míril, who started chuckling. Then too Pippin realized what had happened.

"They're stone!"

"Well! We are forgetting our family history! These must be the very three that were caught by Gandalf, quarrelling over the right way to cook thirteen dwarves and one hobbit," Frodo smiled softly.

Everyone turned to him in surprise. He had spoken!

"Are you alright, Frodo?" Aragorn asked.

He nodded, "I'm feeling better here than I have so far. Let's stay awhile."

Aragorn agreed, "You're not only forgetting your family history, but all you ever knew about trolls!"

They ate some of the meager amount of bread and cheese that they had left underneath the shade of the big stone legs. Merry and Pippin wanted a song.

"How about you, Frodo!"

"Oh no. I'm not well enough to sing. But perhaps Sam would give you a go."

Sam blushed but finally agreed.

"Troll sat alone on his seat of stone  
& munched and mumbled bare old bone  
For many a year he had gnawed it near  
For meat was hard to come by..."

And so he sang for a while. It was a merry tune, and lifted their spirits. Everyone gave Sam a round of applause when it was finished.

"How about you, Míril. Why not grave us with one of your tales," Aragorn smirked. He was sharpening his dagger on a rock.

She nodded, "Give me a moment to think.

"Here is the Tale of the Nightingale:

"When the winds were cold and the grasses green,

"And the stars against the blue sky gleamed,

"Noise was gone and no song was heard  
For as of then, none had seen a bird.

"The elves could talk and laugh and cry,  
But they could not sing to the beautiful sky.

"Then one evening there came a call,  
A song that lifted up them all.

"As in the night and from the forests pale,  
Came the song of the Nightingale.

"Oh Nightingale, Oh Nightingale,  
Your music is like a silver thread.

"Oh Nightingale, Oh Nightingale,  
We thank for the song you spread.

"That is the short version. It has been so long since I heard it in full, I'm afraid I cannot recall every verse."

"I like it," Merry nodded.

She thanked them as they all complemented her. The company decided it was time to get moving again. Frodo seemed more keenly aware, though why was a mystery. They headed towards the road.

Another few hours of walking ensued before they decided to look for a spot to camp for the night. All of a sudden they heard the noise they had all been dreading: horse hooves.

Aragorn pushed them all down to the ground. Soon the hoofbeats got louder and louder and were now accompanied by the tinkling of bells. Then it stopped all of a sudden.

The hobbits heard as something was shouted. They could not understand what was said, for it was foreign to them. Sam could tell in his heart it was Elvish merely by the sound of the man's voice.

Aragorn and Míril both seemed to smile. They leapt up and Aragorn ran to the stranger. Tall and fair he was, with golden hair that flowed in the slight breeze. His horse was white as snow, and it seemed to them that he had an aura of serenity about him.

"Na vedui, Dùnedan!"

"Mae govannen, Glorfindel!"

Míril, after helping the hobbits up and now down the hill, bowed to the elf. He had dismounted and now spoke quickly with Aragorn.

"This," Aragorn told the hobbits, "is Glorfindel of Rivendell."

Glorfindel bowed slightly to the hobbits.

"It is fortunate I found you here," he chimed, "for we have been looking long!"

"Before we go, you must take a look at Frodo. He is injured," Aragorn insisted.

Glorfindel nodded and placed a hand on Frodo's chest. His face hardened in pain and concern as he felt around.

"He must be brought to Lord Elrond at once. All the more reason for us to make haste, Aragorn!"

They agreed upon this and began what turned into a multi day march. It was arduous and taxing, and by the end even Aragorn was feeling tired. They marched the rest of that day, and the next.

It was the third day with Glorfindel when the company found themselves stumbling along the road. Pines were on all sides and the going was tough. Frodo was told to ride Glorfindel's horse, Asfaloth. As they exited the trees, Glorfindel hushed them.

"RUN!"

They took off as fast as they could. Soon they heard hoofbeats behind them, and out of the trees rode five black riders. Glorfindel shouted again, this time to his horse.

"Noro lim! Noro lim, Asfaloth!"

The horse took off as fast as he could. The company watched in dismay as ahead of them, out of the trees, four more riders appeared. They thought for a long while that Frodo wouldn't make it to the Forde.

But that fear proved to be unfounded. The elf's horse pushed in front of the black riders and pulled across the Ford of Bruinen. As the Nazgûl halted their steeds at the water's edge, Míril, Aragorn, and Glorfindel drew their swords. They rushed forward as Frodo fell from the saddle.

The Ringwraiths moved into the river, slowly at first but then quicker as nothing happened. Then all of a sudden a roar was heard as the waters rose and turned into a raging flood. Míril fancied she saw white horses with white riders at the head of the torrent. The black riders were washed away, pushed into the roaring force of the waves and pulled downstream.

The company panicked at first, fearing Frodo had been washed away with the riders. But that fear was satisfied as low and behold, from out of the trees on the other side there came six elves. They rushed to Frodo and picked him up and bore him deeper into the woods, while one led Asfaloth behind them.

Glorfindel smiled at the panting hobbits, "Fear not. For we have done all we can for your friend. It is up to the Lord Elrond to save him, if that is possible. My kinsmen shall take Frodo to him. Let us breathe for a moment before following them."

Pippin fell to the ground, exhausted. Merry sat down beside him and Sam stated after the quickly fading elves. Aragorn and Míril chatted with Glorfindel. After several minutes, Aragorn roused the hobbits and they set off.

"How far is Rivendell," Pippin asked Glorfindel curiously.

"Not too far," he smiled down at him, "not too far at all."

"Good," Merry huffed.

Míril led the way in front, eager to see her old home. She had been away so long, her feet yearned to walk again among the beautiful halls of the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond. Aragorn was in the rear, laughing to himself as he watched the spring in his friend's step. He remembered how keen she had been as a child when they first brought her here, barely a month after her brother's death.

All of a sudden, at the top of a hill, Míril stopped. The hobbits went to see why and suddenly before them they saw a sharp drop. At the bottom was a river that was fed by multiple waters falls. Beautiful houses lined the small hills on the other side.

"Welcome," Aragorn smiled, "to Rivendell, the Last Homely House west of the mountains."


	5. Flashbacks

Miril immediately left Aragorn and the group of hobbits to find her friends in Rivendell: Lindir, Oreleth, and of course the brothers, the sons of Elrond. Her first try was in the banquet hall.

It was a large hall, larger than any building west of the Mountains except maybe the Great Smials of Tuckborough. At one end was a massive fire, always tended to by an elf or two. It tended to be a job for one of the teenage rascals that has gotten into too much trouble. Other than the fire, the room was less than well lit, but the darkness added to the ambiance of the room. The only people in there was a woman with several young elflings. She was telling them a story and she looked up when Miril came into the firelight.

"Miril!"

"Oreleth!"

The elf smiled and stood up, walking over to give Miril a hug. Oreleth was Lindir's sister, and the two siblings had taken quite a fancy to Miril when the girl had first come to Rivendell. Oreleth thought back to those days.

_"Oreleth!"_

_"Settle down, Mir. I'm coming!"_

_"You promised to teach me the flute today!"_

_Oreleth laughed, showing Miril that she was gripping two flutes. Miril grinned widely, excited that her "aunt"(as she called Oreleth) was going to teach her to play today. Both Oreleth and Lindir were great musicians, though Oreleth spent her time teaching young elves while Lindir preferred the company of his peers._

"How are you doing, young lady," Oreleth asked before in concern, looking at Miril more closely, "What happened to your cheek?"

"We were attacked," Miril said, her hand traveling up subconsciously to her cheek, "Nothing serious. One of my comrades, however, requires Elrond's assistance."

"How tragic," Oreleth nodded.

"What are you teaching?"

Oreleth gestured to the children, "History. We're covering the Sinking of Numenor today."

"Any idea where Lindir is," Miril asked her.

"My brother was running an errand for Lord Elrond at the Stables," Oreleth nodded, "He will be delighted to see you."

"I'm sure," she grinned, "I'll talk to you later, Oreleth."

"Farewell, Miril!"

Miril turned to leave the hall and walked with a brisk pace out the doors. She stopped in the courtyard to look at the beautiful roses growing there, delighted to be once again back in Rivendell. Truly this place was beautiful.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, Miril strolled peacefully through the gardens and over the bridge towards the stables. She wondered how her old foal was, now that he had grown into a full-fledged stallion. She hadn't seen him in nearly eight years. Daeroch was his name, Shadow Horse. He was a beautiful grey dapple stallion whose coat glistened in the moonlight.

As Miril approached the stables she heard two elven men talking.

"Belegur, I have not seen you in some time!"

"Aye, Lindir, you don't come by the stables much anymore."

"I cannot bear to see Daeroch here without Miril," the first said sadly.

"Lindir," Miril interrupted, "I'm here!"

"Miril!"

Lindir grinned and embraced Miril. Then, in concern, his hand went to her cheek.

"What is this?"

"Just a cut from the wilds," she brushed it off.

Lindir looked at her disapprovingly, "Both your father and I did not wish this life upon you. Those twins of Elrond were a bad influence on you growing up!"

"Oh please," Miril laughed, "I would've become a Ranger without their help! Even if I'd had to join a different company."

Nonetheless, Lindir and Miril both thought back to the days that she lived in Rivendell.

_"Elrohir! Elrohir!"_

_"What is it, little one," Elrohir asked Miril._

_"Lindir says I cannot become a ranger," Miril cried, close to tears._

_Elrohir looked at the twelve year old child, "Do not listen to Lindir. I believe you can become a formidable warrior, just you wait."_

_"Will you and Elladan show me how to use a sword?"_

_"But of course," Elrohir nodded swiftly, "Who else should instruct a daughter of the Dunedain, friend of our brother Aragorn, but us?!"_

_Miril brightened up instantly, "Where is Elladan?"_

_"My brother is with our father. Come, We will go see them."_

_Miril nodded and followed closely beside Elrohir. They trekked through the houses of Rivendell until they reached the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond. Crossing the small bridge that led to it, they were greeted by several younger elves as they walked through the doors. Elrohir stopped as if trying to remember where his brother and father were._

_"This way."_

_Miril bounced up and down behind him, excited to go see Lord Elrond as well as Elladan. Elrond did not see her much. For some reason she got the impression he disliked her somewhat, though why that was she did not know. Nonetheless, because of this she tried her hardest to impress the elf lord whenever she was in his presence. Walking into a studio of some sort, Elladan and Elrond turned to see who was entering._

_"Ah, Elrohir," Elrond nodded, "What can I do for you, son?"_

_"Miril just wanted to ask Elladan something," Elrohir gestured behind him to the little girl peeking out behind him._

_Elrond gave a small smile and nodded his permission._

_"Elladan," Miril asked slowly, "Will you teach me to use a sword like Elrohir will?"_

_Elrond, looking up at his younger twin in surprise, looked then from Elladan to the girl, and finally back to Elrohir. Elrohir shifted under his father's scrutiny._

_"Of course, Miril," Elladan nodded without hesitation, causing Elrond to look at HIM in surprise._

_"I am not sure Halbarad or Aragorn would approve…"_

_"Our brother did not say no to her becoming a ranger," Elrohir protest, "Besides, it is imperative she learn to defend herself, is it not?"_

_"Miril," Elrond looked at the girl sternly, "will you leave us for a moment?"_

"You should never have become a ranger," Lindir protested quickly, "You should have remained here, in Rivendell, learning more of your history as a half-elf."

"Half-elf doesn't suit me," Miril shook her head, "Part-elf, more like. I can't have more than a smidge of elvish blood in me. But then, I suppose we don't know, do we?"

"Miril!"

Both Miril and Lindir turned to see who was calling.

"Elrohir," Miril bowed happily, running over to see him.

"It is good to see you, little one," he grinned happily using the nickname he always had for her, "It is what, ten years since you were last here?"

"Around that," Miril laughed, "Close enough."

"Well you know how the years flow for us," Elrohir shrugged, "Time is a river ever-flowing."

"I presume you've seen Aragorn," Miril asked.

"Aye," he nodded, "I was with him until just now. Lord Elrond has finished with the Halfling and my brother and he wish to see you and Aragorn. I was sent to retrieve you."

"Duty calls, Lindir," Miril shrugged, "Will I see you later."

"Of course," Lindir nodded before bowing, "Miril, Lord Elrohir."

"Lindir," Elrohir nodded back with a smile before he and Miril took off for the Last Homely House.

Elrohir thought back to what happened after that request to train her. He and his brother had had a heated discussion with their father about little Miril.

_"We cannot train her."_

_"But Ada! She is being hunted by the Dark Lord! She must know when she is older how to defend herself," Elrohir pointed out quickly._

_"You only do not wish to train her because of her fore-fathers," Elladan accused his father._

_"You boys have become too attached to the cursed girl," Elrond shook his head, "How do you not protest to her being here when you KNOW of her parentage! Perhaps her mother and father were not to blame, nor their parents, nor the parents before that, but she has the blood of the Spirit of Fire. The blood of Feanor."_

_"Lady Galadriel is under the ban as well," Elladan pointed out, "Is she not?"_

_"She is not a Feanorian," Elrond spat angrily, "She did not take the oath."_

_"Is that what you are afraid of," Elrohir shouted, "That she will pursue the oath once she is made aware of her parentage?"_

_Elrond froze, "That is one thing you must never EVER reveal to her. Go. You may train the girl, but if you ever reveal her true lineage to her…"_

_"Fine."_

"-rohir? Elrohir," Miril was saying in concern.

"What?"

"I asked you a question but you were all, like, waking dream thing," Miril tried to explain.

Elrohir smiled, "What was it?"

"How is Frodo," she asked him.

"You must ask my father this," Elrohir shrugged, "I believe he is well, but I am not sure."

At last they arrived at the Last Homely House.


	6. Mithrandir!

"Miril," Elladan shouted happily as she walked in, “Now not only is our brother here but also our little one!”

“Really, guys, I’m not that little any more.  I’m 39!”

“Short indeed are the years of men,” Elrond said cryptically, walking into the room followed by a man in grey and Aragorn.

“Mithrandir,” Miril cried happily.

“Hello Miril,” he smiled, but soon his face was replaced with a worn expression.

“How is Frodo,” Miril asked quickly of Elrond.

Elrond sighed, “I believe he will recover, but we must wait and see.  He is asleep now, surrounded by the other hobbits.”

“Bilbo is with him too,” Glorfindel added as he, too, entered the greeting room.

Aragorn looked at Miril in disappointment, “You’ve still not had your wound checked yet have you?”

“No,” Miril admitted, “But Gandalf, where were you!”

“All will be made clear in due time,” he brushed off the question.

Miril sighed but nodded.  Turning to Elrond she bowed.

“My lord.”

“It is good to see you, Miril,” Elrond smiled slightly.

Over the years that Miril had stayed with Elrond, the girl had left quite an impression.  Soon enough, Elrond had grown out of the mistrust and dislike and come to see that Miril was not the kinslayer of her forefathers.  In fact, she reminded him of Celebrimbor in that respect.  Soon, Elrond had realized that his dislike of Miril had stemmed merely from the part that her fore-father had played in his grand-father (Dior)’s death.  Besides, it was hard to dislike a child.

Miril smiled and nodded, “You wished to see us?”

“Ah yes,” he nodded, “I am calling together a council that will meet once Frodo is healed.  I would like the two of you, Aragorn, Miril, to remain here until that council meets.  For you must relay to it what befell the halflings these past few weeks.”

Miril agreed quickly, and Aragorn not long after.  Of course they would remain.

“Who are you calling,” Aragorn asked him.

Elrond sighed, “I am not sure.  I do not know of any who could arrive here quickly.  I hope that Manwe willing, by some miracle, the delegates will chose themselves.”

As they were speaking, a young elf probably in his teenage years walked up to them and bowed, “Pardon, Lord Elrond, but there are some elves of Mirkwood here to see you.”

Everyone looked at the porter in surprise.  Elves of Mirkwood?  What could they be here for?

“Send them in,” Elrond nodded.

Soon a small collection of Silvan elves made their way into the room.  Fortunately the area was large enough for everyone.  Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir instantly recognized their leader as the young Prince of Mirkwood.

“My lords,” Legolas bowed to those in the room, for he realized he was in the presence of several elven lords including Glorfindel and Elrond.

“Prince Legolas,” Elrond nodded, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I have a message from my father,” Legolas told them.

Elrond held up his hand, “I believe it is more than fate that has brought you here, Legolas Greenleaf.  I think it best you keep the message to yourself until the council is held.”

“Council?”

“I am convening a very important council in two weeks’ time.  There you shall share your news,” Elrond told the elf, “Until then, stay and enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, Lord,” Legolas bowed, still rather confused, “May I ask who these are?”

He looked at the two rangers.

“I shall tell you while I escort you to your guest house,” Aragorn nodded, “Come, Prince of Mirkwood.”

Legolas bowed to Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Gandalf.  He turned towards Aragorn and followed him out.  Miril stayed where she was, unsure if she should accompany her friend or stay with the elves.  In the end she decided to stay with the twins.

“Is there anything I can do,” Miril asked Elrond and Gandalf.

Elrond considered this, “Actually yes, you should join in the search for the Nazgul.”

Miril nodded, “Who else is searching?”

“We are,” Elrohir smiled, “Come, let us go!”

Miril followed the half-elven twins out the door and back towards the stables.

“Belegur,” Elladan ordered, “Prepare our horses.”

“Yes, lord,” the stable master nodded quickly and immediately he and the stable hands got to work on the two elf lord’s steeds.

“I will prepare Daeroch on my own,” Miril insisted as an elf came over.

“As you wish.”

Soon the trio had mounted up and they set off down the road to the exit.  Miril laughed gaily as the wind flowed through her chocolaty-brown hair.  Daeroch whinnied in pleasure at being able to run fast across the ground.  His hooves pounded the earth beneath him, reverberating across the land.

Elrohir smiled at her and shook his head.  She was a wild girl: smart, but rash.  She’d rush headlong into danger at a pin drop.  She had a fiery temper, one which she struggled to control when she was truly angry.  He’d only seen her like that twice.  The first was the most memorable.

_“Keep your shoulders up, Mir,” Elladan instructed the young teenage girl._

_Miril bit her tongue and raised her shoulders as she held the double short-swords up._

_“Better,” Elrohir nodded._

_Elladan ran at her and she parried, blocking his attack easily.  Little did she realize, though, that Elrohir was coming up behind her.  He poked her in the back._

_“Ouch!”_

_Then it was Elladan’s turn to piss her off._

_“OUCH!”_

_“Gotta keep your eyes open, Miril,” Elrohir winked and laughed as he poked her again._

_She was steaming.  Elrohir stopped smiling and stepped back as she gritted her teeth and raised her swords.  Miril was only 14 but she was frightening when angry.  Her cheeks got all red and her eyes narrow._

_Miril ran at Elrohir screaming, “I’ll show you open eyes!”_

Elrohir shook his head at the memory and laughed.  Elladan, who was next to him, asked him what was up.

“Remember that time we got Miril very angry when we were teaching her?”

“How could I forget,” Elladan laughed.

They approached the river, and Elrohir and Elladan soon caught up with Miril.  They dismounted and led their horses on foot down a small path beside the river.

“The current flows this way,” Elrohir nodded as they approached the path.  South.

Walking, they watched the path and the water for any signs of the Nazgul.  After an hour of walking they came to a small pool that was fed by the river Bruinen.  In the pool there were nine horse corpses.  They were all black, with open red eyes.  But they found only eight sets of clothes.

“There is a chill here,” Elladan muttered, “An unnatural chill!”

“Aye,” Elrohir nodded.

Miril agreed with them, “I say we get out of here.”

“Yes,” Elladan agreed with her, “Let us go.”

They mounted their horses and swiftly road from the spot.  There indeed had been an unnatural chill in the air, almost as if there had been another presence.  Galloping from that cursed place, they arrived within the hour at the Last Homely House.


	7. Hall of Fire

Four days went by and soon Frodo was healed. He woke up on the morning of October the 24th to a wise old wizard sitting in his room. They discussed many things and soon they came to the topic of Aragorn and Miril.

"Do you really mean that Strider is one of the people of the old Kings," said Frodo in wonder. "I thought they had all vanished long ago. I thought he was only a Ranger!"

"Only a Ranger!" cried Gandalf. "My dear Frodo, that is just what the Rangers are: the last remnant in the North of the great people, the Men of the West. They have helped me before; and I shall need their help in the days to come; for we have reached Rivendell, but the Ring is not yet at rest."

"What about Miril," Frodo asked, "What is she?"

A strange look came across Gandalf's face. He covered it up quickly and smiled.

"Miril is of elvish and dunedain descent. It is complicated."

"Very well," Frodo nodded, "Keep your secrets, Gandalf. I myself wish to rest for a while longer."

"There will be great feasting later today in honor of your recovery," Gandalf revealed to the hobbit, "So rest up."

Gandalf left the hobbit alone in his room and went to the great libraries of Rivendell. There he found Aragorn and Elrond deep in conversation.

"I am concerned for her, Lord," Aragorn was telling the Elf-Lord and Aragorn's adopted father.

"For Miril," Gandalf asked, butting in on their conversation.

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, making room for the wizard.

"She is a stout warrior, a girl of wonderful heart, and full of passion," Gandalf shook his head, "You need not be worried."

Elrond smirked, "So you always have said, Mithrandir. Even when we all doubted, you stood by Miril's side. Why is that?"

"Because only the foolish despair. Miril is as capable a warrior as her father, as gifted at lore as her mother, and as strong of heart as her companions."

"Where is she at the moment," Elrond asked.

"I last saw her with the twins," Gandalf revealed, "As usual."

Miril sat laughing hysterically at something Elladan had said. The twins and Miril were seated in one of the many gardens of Imladris, eating food and drinking wine.

"It wasn't funny," Elladan protested.

"Yes, it was, brother," Elrohir laughed along.

Elladan shook his head but chuckled as Miril struggled to regain control of herself. They hadn't heard her beautiful laugh in many years. Elrohir especially had missed it.

"How has the hunt come," Miril asked after several silent minutes in which the three of them merely enjoyed each other's company.

"Unfortunately there is rarely a shortage of orcs," Elladan told her.

Elrohir agreed, "We've stuck mostly to the areas of the Ettenmoors as of late, since our sister has been home. It has been long since we've seen her, so we wanted to stay close."

"How is the Lady Arwen," Miril asked.

"Wonderful," said a woman who approached them, "I am happy to have returned home after spending so long with my grandmother, though I do miss the golden leaves of Lorien."

"My Lady," Miril got up and bowed from her spot, "It is good to see you."

"Miril," she nodded with a small smile, "It is a pleasant surprise seeing you here after so many years."

"Sister," Elladan smiled, "You do realize that Lord Aragorn is here, don't you."

Elrohir snickered.

"Yes, I do," Arwen narrowed her eyes, "I was on my way to see him, brother."

"I am sure he cannot wait to lay eyes on you," Elrohir added as she walked away.

Arwen rolled her eyes at her brothers' teasing. She merely bid farewell to Miril and continued on her way to the library.

Miril jabbed Elrohir in the side, "That was mean."

"Was not! It was just a bit of fun!"

Miril rolled her eyes and laid back in the grass. She let the bright sun rest on her face, illuminating her pale, soft skin. It warmed her like a candle and she relished the wonderful feeling it brought her.

Elrohir watched the woman with a small smile. He felt warm inside while in her presence. It made him feel happier than any other time in his life, when Miril was by his side. He loved his brother, but it was something different with Miril, Elrohir simply couldn't place it.

Elladan watched his brother silently. Elladan knew what his brother was feeling, even if Elrohir himself did not. It made him laugh inside. Elladan reflected that he had two siblings that were hopelessly in love. For himself, he was fine with the wind in his hair and the sword in his hand. That was his life, and he liked it.

Frodo woke up later that day to Sam in his room. The two hobbits talked for a while before Sam revealed that the feast was soon. Fortunately Frodo had already changed and the two hobbits left the bedroom for the courtyard. There they ran into the other hobbits and Aragorn.

"Come, it is time for the feast," Aragorn smiled, letting the hobbits go before him into the great dining hall.

It was at the feast that Frodo first laid eyes on the Lady Arwen. So beautiful was she that Frodo marveled at her. Surely she was the most beautiful maiden alive!

Once everyone had processed in, they waited for Elrond to sit before the rest were allowed to do the same. Frodo found himself next to an old dwarf with a voluminous white beard.

"Welcome and well met," the dwarf said, "Gloin, at your service."

"Frodo Baggins at your service and your family's," Frodo bowed in surprise, "Am I right in assuming you are THE Gloin, one of Thorin Oakenshield's companions?"

"Quite right," Gloin answered, "And I have already been told that you are kinsman and adopted heir of Bilbo the renowned. Allow me to congratulate you on your recovery!"

"Thank you!"

Miril was conspicuously absent from the feast. However, everyone was so caught up in the celebration that no one missed her, except Elrond. Elrond wondered where the half-elf had gone to, but he did not pursue it. She was old enough to take care of herself. The only other people missing from the feast were Elladan and Elrohir, for Elrond had sent them on an errand that night and they were away from Rivendell. Goblins had been sighted leaving the Ettenmoors, and they needed to be kept in check.

As it was, Miril was wandering the empty halls of the Last Homely House. She was on her way to visiting her old room which she hoped they had kept like it had been eight years prior. Indeed, when she got there and opened the door, she breathed in the familiar scent of orchids that grew outside the window. Closing her eyes she took a big whiff of the comforting scent.

She went to the mirror and her hand went to her cheek. She felt the healing wound with her hand. It would leave a scar. But that was okay- one more battle scar to add to her dozen. Miril went to her desk and opened the bottom drawer. Drawing out the bottom of the drawer, she revealed a secret compartment which contained a dust-covered book. Miril removed the book and blew off the dust. She smiled sadly as the beautiful blue star on the black cover was revealed beneath the blanket of dust newly removed.

The book was an ancient one, one that told of days long since passed. Miril had found it in a troll hoard and had kept it hidden since. For within its covers were stories that told of the Elder Days, written by a master elf of the Noldor. Besides tales of the days before the Fall of Beleriand, it also contained herbal remedies, maps, and other coveted crafts from those days. She knew in her heart she should give it to the Lord Elrond, but somehow she felt a connection to it. Something unexplained refused to allow her to hand it over.

Miril looked up from the book when she heard a series of bells tolling in the distance. The feast was over, and it was time for story and song! Miril smiled and slipped the book back into the bottom drawer before pulling on a dress from her old closet. Miraculously, the beautiful dresses were still in prime shape despite the number of years that had passed since they had last been worn.

In her silver and blue dress, Miril did her hair back and slipped on some silver shoes. She rushed out the door of her room and made her way to the Hall of Fire. Once there, she waited to go in for everyone else first. She wished that Elladan and Elrohir were there, but wishing would do nothing. They would be back late tomorrow, anyways. They would miss the Council that was set to convene though.

For many people had shown up. Gloin and a company of dwarves had come as emissaries of Dain from the Lonely Mountain. Legolas Greenleaf and his Mirkwood elves had arrived some days prior to the feast. Elves of the Gray Havens lead by Galdor were there as well. Tomorrow, she and Aragorn would represent the race of Men. It was not the first time she had aligned herself with her Dunedain brethren, though she felt just as at home among the Elves.

"Miril," Gandalf greeted her, "Elrond told me you missed the feast. Why is that?"

"I was elsewhere," was all she told the wise old wizard.

Gandalf huffed, "Ever full of secrets."

"You know you like me that way," she smirked, "Have you seen Lindir?"

"Yes. He is with Bilbo in the corner."

"Thanks."

Miril made her way through the crowds to where Bilbo sat reciting some poem. It seems he was just finishing as Miril got there.

"Now, we better have it again," Lindir nodded to Bilbo.

"I am flattered, Lindir," he said, "But it would be too tiring to repeat it all."

"Not to tiring for you," another elf answered with a laught, "You know you are never tired of reciting your own verses. But really, we cannot answer you question at one hearing!"

"What," Bilbo cried, "You can't tell which parts were mine, and which were the Dunedan's?"

"It is not easy for us to tell the difference between two mortals," Lindir protested.

Bilbo told him this was nonsense.

"Maybe. To sheep, other sheep no doubt appear different. Or to shepherds. But mortals have not been our study. We have other business!"

"Very well, I will leave you to guess," Bilbo snorted.

Miril chuckled as Bilbo and Frodo left the little scene. She sat down beside Lindir on the floor.

"What was that about?"

"Oh you know, old Bilbo was telling us one of his pieces of poetry. Quite a good one, too. You'd have enjoyed it. It was about Earendil and his journey."

"Miril! Miril!"

The Ranger turned around to see who was calling her. It was Oreleth.

"Oreleth," Miril smiled, rising from her seat beside Lindir who himself took the stool to perform one of his own poems.

"Miril, come. It is time for us to perform the Hymn of Elbereth. Do you not wish to accompany me?"

"Of course," Miril grinned, hurrying behind the elf maid quickly. They arrived at the front of the Hall of Fire where a lute sat unplayed. Oreleth grabbed it and struck up a tune.

_"A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_

_silivren penna miriel,_

_o menel aglar elenath!_

_Na-chaered palan-diriel_

_O galadhremmin ennorath,_

_Fanuilos, le linnathon_

_Nef aear, si nef aearon!"_

Miril's clear voice rang out across the quieted room. Everyone listen to her sing the Hymn of Elbereth. It was a favorite among the Elves of Rivendell. It was a hymn of praise to Lady Elbereth, that is, Lady Varda, wife of Lord Manwe of the Valar. She is the Queen of the Stars, and the patron of the Elves for lack of a better word. All give her praise.

The rest of the night went like this, as Miril sang and enjoyed the songs of her elvish friends all around her. It was a long night, but elves need little sleep. However Miril retired early the next morning while the sky was still dark to her room, eager for a rest. Her cheek was stinging despite its progress healing, and she made sure to apply the ointment that Elrond had given her before bed. After all, tomorrow would be a long day. The Council was to convene.


	8. The Council (Part One)

The next day, Miril woke early feeling rather refreshed.  She took a walk before the Council was called and just returned to the main garden when a clear bell tolled.

Miril walked quickly in to the Council chamber where she found Aragorn sitting in a corner by himself.  Elves had already filled many of the seats; she saw Erestor, Glorfindel, Galdor, and Elrond of course.  There were other elves with them both of the Gray Havens and of Rivendell.  There was even the Prince of the Silvan Elves, Legolas.  Gloin and a younger dwarf, probably his son, sat in on the Council as well.

Taking her seat next to Aragorn, her eyes fell on a man clothed as if for a long journey on horseback.  Across his chest was a great horn tipped with silver.  The man looked upon Frodo and Bilbo who entered the room with wonder.

“Who is that,” Miril whispered to Aragorn.

Before he could answer, Elrond introduced him, “Here is Boromir, a man from the South.  He arrived in the grey morning, and seeks for counsel.  I have bidden him to be present, for here his questions will be answered.”

The first topic discussed concerned the dwarves.  Gloin was here to report several things, including that of a failed expedition into Moria that Balin and some followers had undertaken.  But then he spoke of an even graver matter.

“Then about a year ago a messenger came to Dain, but not from Moria- from Mordor: a horseman in the night who called Dain to his gate.  The Lord Sauron the Great, so he said, wished for our friendship.  Rings he would give for it, such as he gave of old.  And he asked urgently concerning hobbits, of which kind they were, and where they dwelt.”

Everyone was surprised and many disturbed prompting Gloin to continue.

“And so I have been sent at last by Dain to warn Bilbo that he is sought by the Enemy, and to learn, if may be, why he desires this ring, this least of rings.  Also we crave the advice of Elrond.  For the Shadow grows and draws nearer.  We discover that messengers have come also to King Brand in Dale and that he is afraid.  We fear that he may yet yield.  Already war is gathering on his eastern borders.  If we make no answer, the Enemy may move Men of his rule to assail King Brand, and Dain also.”

Elrond replied with assurance, “You have done well to come.  You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy.  There is naught that you can do, other than resist, with hope or without it.  But you do not stand alone.  You will learn that your trouble is but part of the trouble of all the western world.  The Ring!  What shall we do with the Ring, the least of rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies?  That is the doom that we must deem.  That is the purpose for which you are called hither.  Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands.  You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem.  Believe rather that it is so ordered that we, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of the world.”

Miril looked around the room at the faces before her.  They were all filled with anticipation, with questions, and some with foreboding.  Legolas seemed twitchy, Gloin’s son uncomfortable being surrounded by all the elves, and Boromir rather curious.  Aragorn’s face was grave, and she herself felt a chill roll down her back when she thought about the Ring.

Then Elrond began to speak about Sauron and the forging of the Rings of Power.  Miril knew the tale well, as she had been taught it during her childhood in Rivendell.  However there were some details that were wholly new to her, no doubt because of Elrond’s firsthand experience.  He spoke of how Sauron had preyed upon the elves’ thirst for knowledge and together they had crafted the rings of power.  Seven were created for the dwarf lords, nine for the lords of men, and three for the elven kings.  Sauron did not touch the three, and these alone were hidden from him by Celebrimbor the elf-smith when he became aware of the Ruling Ring.  For while the nineteen rings were being created in the open, Sauron was in secret creating a master ring, the One Ring, to rule over the others.

Then he spoke of Numenor, its glory and its fall.  He spoke of the return of the great kings of Men to Middle-Earth out of the sea upon the winds of the storm.  He told of Elendil, of Isildur and Anarion, and the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor.  He spoke of the Last Alliance between Elves and Men where Gil-galad and Elendil banded together and defeated Sauron.

“I remember well the splendor of their banners,” he said, “It recalled to me the glory fo the Elder Days and the hosts of Beleriand, so many great princes and captains were assembled.  And yet not so many, nor so fair, as when Thangorodrim was broken and the elves deemed that evil was ended forever, and it was not so.”

Miril nearly laughed at Frodo’s expression as he burst out, “You remember?  But I thought, I thought that the fall of Gil-galad was a long age ago.”

Elrond then explained to Frodo and to those unfamiliar with his lineage to the council, that he was an elf of the Elder Days.  For he was the son of Earnedil and Elwing, who themselves were children of great elves and men of the Elder Days, tracing back not far to Luthien herself, daughter of Queen Melian the Maia.

Miril wondered very much who she herself was descended from.  No doubt it was some nameless elf, but in her dreams she liked to pretend she was the product of some sort of famed elf and man.  Little did she realize just how true this was.  Though, infamous might have been a better word for the elf.

Elrond then went on to explain how Isildur had kept the One Ring as compensation and as a memorial for the death of his father Elendil.

“So that is what became of the Ring,” Boromir cried, “If ever such a tale was told in the South, it has long been forgotten.  I have heard of the Great Ring of him that we do not name, but we believed that it perished from the world in the ruin of his first realm.  Isildur took it!  That is tidings indeed.”

“Alas, yes,” Elrond nodded, “Isildur took it, as should not have been.”

Miril nodded sadly, absentmindedly.  It was a tale kept alive in the main houses of the Dunedain, ones closely linked with Aragorn.  So far nothing she had heard so far was news.

“Fruitless did I call the victory of the Last Alliance?  Not wholly so, yet it did not achieve its end.  Sauron was diminished but not destroyed.  His Ring was lost but not unmade.  The Dark Tower was broke, but its foundations were not removed,” Elrond supposed.

After Elrond had spoken of the ruin of Arnor in the North, he spoke then of Gondor in the South.  He spoke of its waning, and to this Boromir protested.

“Give me leave, Master Elrond, to speak more of Gondor.  Believe not that in the land of Gondor the blood of Numenor is spent, not all its pride and dignity forgotten.  By our valor the wild folk of the East are still restraine and the terror of Morgul kept at bay.”

Boromir went on to speak much of the valor of Gondor.  But then he came to the real reason he was at Rivendell.

“I come to ask for counsel and the unravelling of hard words.  For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me.  In that deam, I though thte eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:  “ _Seek for the Sword that was broken: in Imladris it dwells; there shall be counsels taken Stronger than Morgul-spells.  There shall be shown a token that doom is near at hand, for Isildur’s Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand.”_

Miril and Aragorn exchanged a quick look of understanding.  The sword that was broken.  Both knew of this oft-spoken of blade.

“Here in the House of Elrond more shall be made clear to you,” said Aragorn, standing up and casting his sword upon the table all saw it was in two pieces, “Here is the Sword that was broken!”

“And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith,” Boromir asked quickly.

Miril nearly choked with laughter but a quick stare from Gandalf and Elrond shut her up.

“He is Aragorn son of Arathorn,” said Elrond, “And he is descended form many fathers from Isildur Elendil’s son of Minas Ithil.  He is the Chief of the Dunedain in the North, and few are now left of that folk.”

Frodo jumped up in surprise, “Then it belongs to you, and not to me at all!”

“It does not belong to either of us,” Aragorn said, “but it has been ordained that you should hold it for a while.”

“Bring out the Ring, Frodo.”

All then understood the remainder of the riddle.  Boromir fretted the Doom of Minas Tirith, but Aragorn corrected him.

“The words were not he doom of Minas Tirith.”

It was explained in words what all realized in that moment, that the sword that lay broken on the table was indeed Narsil, the Sword of Elendil that broke beneath him when he fought Sauron.

Many things were discussed concerning Aragorn and Boromir, all of which greatly interested Miril.  For she felt that each time Boromir looked in doubt upon Aragorn, her own heritage was being doubted.  But she looked upon her chieftain and friend Aragorn with pride whenever he spoke.

Bilbo was then asked to continue the tale and he himself told the full story of how he received the ring.  However this is written of elsewhere, and I will not go into it.  In the end, however, it was enough to know that the ring passed from Gollum, to Bilbo, to Frodo.  Frodo went on to tell his part of the tale up from when he received the ring to the very crossing of the fords not many days ago.

“It is quite a long tale,” Frodo told them, “But the story does not seem complete to me.  I still want to know a good deal, especially about Gandalf.”

Galdor, who sat nearby, overheard this comment and reiterated it adding also, “What of Saruman?  He is learned in the lore of the Rings, yet he is not among us.  What is his counsel, if he knows the things that we have heard?”


	9. The Council (Part Two)

"The questions you ask, Galdor, are bound together,” said Elrond, “I had not overlooked them, and they shall be answered.  But these things it Is the part of Gandalf to make clear; and I call upon him last, for it is the place of honor, and in all this matter he has been the chief.”

And so Gandalf went on to speak about Saruman, and the betrayal that he suffered at his fellow wizard’s hands.  He also spoke about Gollum.

“And I,” said Aragorn, “counselled that we should hunt for Gollum, too late though it may seem.  And since it seemed fit that Isildur’s heir should labor to repair Isildur’s fault, I went with Gandalf on the long and hopeless search.  And in the end, we were joined by Miril, here.”

For the first time that day, all eyes turned upon her.

“Don’t look at me,” she assured them, “It was mainly the work of Aragorn and Gandalf that brought about this leg of the journey.”

And so attention switched once more to Aragorn and Gandalf as they told of the capture of Gollum and his interrogation in the halls of Mirkwood.  They spoke of how they entrusted Gollum to the watchfulness of the Elves.

“Alas!  Alas,” cried Legolas, “The tidings that I was sent to bring must now be told.  They are not good, but only here have I learned how evil they may seem to this company.  Smeagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped!”

“Escaped,” cried Aragorn, “That is ill news indeed.  We shall all rue it bitterly, I fear.  How came the golk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?”

Legolas went on to explain how the elves would take Gollum to climb trees each day until one day he refused to come down.  They set a watch upon the tree but were attacked by orcs, and by the time the battle was over, Gollum had disappeared.

“We have failed to recapture Gollum.  We came on his taril among those of many orcs, and it plunged deep into the Forest, going south.  But ere long it escaped our skill, and we dared not continue the hunt; for we were drawing night to Dol Guldur, and that is still a very evil place; we do not go that way.”

“Well, well, he is gone,” said Gandalf, “We have no time to seek for him again.  He must do what he will.  But he may play a part yet that neither he nor Sauron have foreseen.”

The rest of the Council was spent with Gandalf discussing how Saruman had imprisoned him and his escape by Gwaihir the Windlord.  Everyone but Elrond was shocked at the tale.  Saruman?  Betrayed them?  It was all much to take in.

“This is grievous news concerning Saruman,” Elrond said, “for we trusted him and he is deep in all our counsels.  It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill.  Of all the tales told today, the tale of Frodo was the most strange to me.  I have known few hobbits, save Bilbo here, and it seems to me that he is perhaps not so alone and singular as I had thought him.  The world has changed much since I was last on the westward roads.”

Finally talked turned to what to do with the Ring.

“There are but two courses, as Glorfindel already has declared: to hide the Ring forever, or to unmake it.  But both are beyond our power.  Who will read this riddle for us?”

“We must send the Ring to the fire.”

Everyone fell silent.  Miril felt a tug as she looked as the ring.  It called to her.  It wanted her.  She wanted it.  But she shook her head, she could not have it.  It was not hers.  It was evil.  She could not have it.

“What would happen to the three elven rings if the One were destroyed,” Miril asked suddenly after long silence.

“We know not for certain,” answered Elrond sadly, “Some ope that the three rings, which Suaron has never touched, would ten become free and their rulers might heal the hurts of the world that he has wrought.  But maybe when the One is gone, the Three will fail, and many fair things will fade and be forgotten.  That is my belief.”

“Yet all the Elves are willing to endure this chance,” said Glorfindel, “if by it the power of Sauron may be broken, and the fear of his dominion be taken away forever.”

After a long silence, Miril noticed Frodo shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  Finally, he stood.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor,” he said, “though I do not know the way.”

Elrond nodded slowly, “If I understand aright all that I have heard, I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will.  This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great.  Who of all the Wise could have foreseen it?  Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck?”

Elrond sighed, “But it is a heavy burden.  So heavy that none could lay it on another.  I do not lay it on you.  But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right; and though all the mighty elf-friends of old, Hador, and Hurin, and Turin, and Beren himself were assembled together, your seat should be among them.”

Suddenly Sam leapt from the corner he’d been sitting in, “But surely you won’t send him off alone, Master?!”

“No indeed,” Elrond smiled, “You at least shall go with him.  It is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.”

Miril laughed out loud at the sheepish look on Sam’s face.  At last the Council was dismissed.  Miril left with Aragorn.

“Aragorn,” she said, “Shouldn’t someone go after Gollum?”

He shrugged, “It is unlikely that they would catch him.”

“But someone should at least try!”

Aragorn shook his head, “Don’t do anything hasty, Miril.”

“I won’t,” she smiled, “Don’t worry.”

“I heard that the Twins will be back for dinner tonight,” Aragorn commented.

“Oh, that’s good!”

“Thought you might be happy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Miril asked him quickly.

Aragorn smirked, “Nothing.”


	10. The Book

Miril was starving after the Council and she soon split from Aragorn's company. She went to the kitchens for a bite to eat and got a salad and some bread. Tired of sitting indoors, she took her meal with her out into the sunshine and ate in one of the many gardens of Imladris. There she ran into the Lady Arwen.

"How are you, my Lady," Miril asked the elf-maiden.

Arwen smiled, "Quite well, Miril, quite well. How was the Council?"

"Long," Miril admitted, "but engaging. I learned much."

The two women spoke at length about various matters. They weren't good friends by any stretch of the imagination; Miril had met Arwen only a few times in her travels, and then it was mostly in Lothlorien. But the two women were a minority when surrounded by so many men so they had to stick together.

Soon however, Miril said goodbye to Arwen and retreated to her bedroom to sleep. She was rather tired after the Council and wanted to take a nap. Climbing into bed, she had strange dreams. Her dream was filled with red. A red sky and a red ocean. A great ship was on the red sea, and a shining jewel was in the water. For some reason, Miril knew it was a choice. She could either choose the jewel, or choose the ship. Then a voice spoke:

"A red dawn that day will be, when at last you choose between Jewel and Sea."

She wondered what it meant.

When she awoke, Miril pulled on her shoes and slipped out the door. The moon was high in the sky, and she guessed it was around eleven o'clock. Heading to the Last Homely House in Imladris, Miril walked into the main room and asked a maiden whether or not the Sons of Elrond had returned.

"Yes," the woman nodded, "They are in council with Lord Elrond, Lord Aragorn, and Mithrandir. Down the hall to the left."

"Thanks!"

Miril walked down the hall and knocked on the wooden door before opening it. Inside there was a beautiful skylight, from which moonlight streamed down through onto the center of a large circular table. Candles adorned the rest of the room, causing light to dance all around. Gandalf, Aragorn, Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir sat around the table.

"Ah, Miril," Elrond nodded, "We sent Aragorn to fetch you, but you were asleep and he decided not to wake you."

Miril nodded, "Welcome back, guys."

Elladan and Elrohir smiled and nodded.

"So," Miril asked, "What are we talking about?"

"We were briefing them on the Council," Aragorn explained.

Miril took her seat with a nod and listened as Elrond told his sons about the council.

"So Saruman is a traitor," Elrohir snarled, "How repulsive."

"How long were his councils tainted, I wonder," said Elladan.

"Who can ever know," Gandalf replied.

"We are sending out scouts," Elrond told Miril, "Scouts to get in contact with the Rangers and the Elves."

"Who's going?"

"I'm sending the four of you," Elrond replied, gesturing towards Aragorn, Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir, "Get in touch with the Dunedain as you can, then Elladan, Elrohir, head east down Celebrant and into your grandparents' country."

"I should be able to get in contact with Halbarad's company, and maybe a few other scattered folk," Aragorn agreed, "We will search down the Greyflood all the way to Tharbad."

"Miril," Elrond turned to her, "Which would you like to go with?"

Miril thought about it. She weighed her options and decided in the end to go with Elladan and Elrohir.

"All of us will help finding the Rangers, first," Elladan assured her, "Until then, your choices are still open."

She nodded, this was true.

"Other messengers I will send up into the Ettenmoors and still more to Mirkwood along with Legloas' followers. Erestor shall lead a party to speak to Radagast at Rhosgobel."

Gandalf nodded, "It is a good plan. For we must have news of how the Enemy is amassing his forces in this area before we venture East."

"And we can search for Gollum," Miril added eagerly, for she had put much effort into finding that troublemaker the first time.

"Yes," Gandalf agreed, "Keep your eyes and ears open as you travel for news of him."

Miril nodded, "Good. Good."

"Well, you are dismissed until morning," Elrond nodded after a moment, "Prepare to leave right after you eat breakfast."

They nodded in turn and got up from the table. Miril wasn't tired so she walked slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb anyone who was sleeping, to the Library in the large house. She didn't notice Elrohir watching her longingly until he spoke.

"Something is troubling you Mir," he observed, coming forward form where he had been leaning against a pillar, "What is it?"

"Nothing," she assured him, "Well… I had this dream…"

"What was it about?"

"There was this ocean of red water, maybe blood," she explained, "and there was a beautiful ship sailing west. But there was also a brilliantly shining jewel along the shore. And I had to choose- the jewel or the ship."

"Which did you choose?"

"Neither. I woke up before I chose one or the other," Miril replied.

Elrohir nodded, "I am not gifted like my father or grandmother in deciphering riddles such as these. I am afraid I am unable to interpret this."

"That's alright," Miril smiled, "We can't all be good at everything."

Elrohir scoffed, "Perhaps you cannot. However, we elves…"

"Oh stop it," Miril laughed, hitting him in the arm.

Elrond watched them from a distance and frowned. His only daughter had fallen for a mortal, and now one of his sons was falling for a fellow half-elf who was doomed to live out her days in Middle Earth, never to leave over the sea.

Elrond knew that if Elrohir and Miril were to be married, have a family, then that would put Elrohir in a horrible situation: he would have to choose between his family, including his always present twin brother and the mother he so ardently fights for, or Miril Lôminzil. Sighing, he left them be.

"So what are you in here for," Elrohir asked Miril as she wandered around the room.

"I'm not really sure," she admitted, "I just felt drawn here. But I should get to bed, I suppose."

Elrohir smiled, think about Miril's fondness for books that she'd had since she had first come to Rivendell. Her favorite subject had always been the Feanorians and Fingolfinians.

_"Please, Elrohir! Please can we go see Lindir in the Library?!"_

_"I suppose," Elrohir laughed as young Miril pulled him towards the Last Homely House._

_Miril hopped along the path to the Last Homely House. She burst in through the doors, past the group of elder elves that stood speaking, and through the hall to the Library. Once there, she ran to an elf sitting in the corner at a desk._

_"Lindir!"_

_"Hello Miril," he smiled, looking up from his book, "What can I do for you."_

_"I want the book on the Elder Days, the one with the pretty colors!"_

_Lindir laughed, "The same one as always? Alright!"_

_He got up and went to a shelf, getting it down from among the other books. It was a blue covered book with three shining jewels on the front. There were colorful illustrations throughout. It was a book about the days in Valinor before the lies of Morgoth drove a rift between the houses. It was about the great Princes and Ladies of the Noldor: Feanor and his sons Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrad and Amras, Fingolfin and his children Fingon, Turgon, and Aredhel, and Finarfin and his children Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, and Galadriel. Miril was fascinated by the Elves of old._

_"Read it to me, Elrohir," she demanded, running over with the book to the prince, "Read it!"_

_"Alright, alright, settle down," he told her, "Come on."_

_They walked over to a corner of the Library that was unoccupied and sat down on the floor. Elrohir opened the book and began to read._

"Look," Miril smiled, getting on her tiptoes and reaching up for a book, "it's still here!"

Miril grabbed the blue and jeweled book from her childhood and looked through its pages. She came to her favorite passage. It read all about the Princes of the Noldor. It described them in detail. Miril loved to picture the wondrous elves in her mind.

"I'm going back to bed," Miril yawned after a little while of reminiscing.

She said goodnight to Elrohir and walked herself back to her room which wasn't too far from the Last Homely House. In fact, it was only one house over. Changing into her night-gown, she rolled into bed. With a final yawn, she drifted off to sleep.


	11. The Journey Begins

"Are you ready," Miril asked Aragorn after breakfast the next morning.

She had yet to find the twins, but Aragorn was easy to find; he had dined with the Lady Arwen, Gandalf, and Elrond. Now he was standing out on the front porch of the Last Homely House. Miril had come up to him.

"Yes," he nodded, "I am. Elladan and Elrohir are getting the horses ready."

"I have my bags ready to go," Miril added, "Should I take them to the stables?"

"Yes," Aragorn told her.

Miril smiled and went back to her room to grab her couple of duffle bag packs that could be attached to either side of the horse's flank. Humming a tune to herself, she walked down the path and over the large bridge to the stables. It was a beautiful October day in Rivendell, and as Miril walked over the long bridge across the Falls, she smiled to herself and took a deep breath. Oh how she loved the smell of a newborn dawn.

"Good morning," Miril called to Elladan, Elrohir, and the stable master Belegur.

"Good morning Lady Miril," Belegur bowed.

"Good morning, Mir," said the twins.

"I have my bags ready," She showed them her packs.

Miril walked over to Daeroch and fastened her packs onto his saddle. They were the perfect saddle bags, not too full or too heavy. Daeroch would be able to shoulder them fine. She herself was outfitted in her green ranger garb, with a heavy green cloak. Miril took her sword scabbard off her belt and fastened it onto Daeroch.

Not long after, Aragorn came walking down the path to the stable, carrying his own saddle bags. He would be riding a white mare named Nimroch. He got his horse ready swiftly and soon all four riders were ready to head out.

Elrond and Gandalf came by just as they were hopping into their saddles. They bid farewell, stressing the importance of this journey.

"Find your Rangers, Aragorn," Elrond reminded him, "And my sons, contact your grandmother with news of not only what has come to pass, but that we will most likely be sending a company her way in the coming months."

"Of course, Father," Elladan nodded, "Come, let us go."

They bid farewell to Elrond and Gandalf before spurring their horses down the road out of the Rivendell. The sky was just beginning to be a pale blue with a small wisps of clouds up high above them. They breathed in the sweet scent of the clear rushing water of the Ford as they drew close. Their first stop would be back north of the Shire. They had to get in contact with Halbarad and his company.

No longer fearing pursuit of the Nazgul, they stuck to the road. As such the going was much faster. They also were on horseback, helping them much. They reached half way to Weathertop by the end of the day after a hard ride. They set up camp beneath a pair of alder trees just north of the East-West Road.

"Tell me again what your mother Celebrian was like," Miril smiled as she lay back against the tree trunk, her eyes clothes.

The fire crackled before them. Aragorn had gone to scout a bit farther ahead in the dark to make sure no one was around. It was just Miril and the twins.

"She was amazing," Elrohir said with a smile, "She was always there for us."

"Indeed," Elladan nodded, "Our mother encouraged us to pursue the intellectual arts as well as the physical arts. She dressed beautifully and made sure we were put together."

"She was like any mother in that regard," Elrohir laughed, "Always worried about our appearances."

"I never really had a mother," Miril frowned quietly.

Elrohir stopped his laughing, "But you had a brother and a father. And then you have us."

"This is true," she smiled a little.

Aragorn returned carrying his torch, "All clear."

"Good," Elladan nodded, "Then let us relax a little. Have a story or two."

"Oh I don't know," Aragorn protested, "It's not THAT clear."

"Come," Elrohir insisted, "A story, little brother!"

"Alright, how about the Tale of Turin Turambar?"

"Excellent choice," Miril approved, settling herself against Elrohir's side and resting her head on his shoulder.

And so Aragorn dove into the tale of the cursed man, the son of the great Hurin, the elf-friend. He spoke about how Turin had accidentally killed his best friend Beleg Cuthalion in a fit of fear. How he renamed himself time and time again. How every time he could've sought forgiveness, he deemed himself unworthy, fleeing from the problem. Of how he had degraded himself by sleeping with his sister without knowledge. And finally, how he had killed himself after discovering this dreadful truth.

"A good story, albeit a sad one," Elladan nodded when he had finished.

He and Aragorn looked over at Elrohir and Miril and found they were both asleep together. Elladan cracked a smile and Aragorn merely raised an eyebrow.

"You did not see it," Elladan whispered, "How could you not?"

"See what?"

"That they have affections for one another," Elladan spelled it out.

Aragorn looked from Elladan to his brother in surprise.

"Surely your father disapproves."

"Frankly I don't think Elrohir cares much for how our father feels," Elladan shrugged, "And to be honest, neither do I. If it makes my brother happy, then all is well."

"And you," Aragorn turned on him as he stoked the fire, "Who do you fancy?"

"None but the wind in my hair and the sky to my face," Elladan insisted, "Though if I had to pick a maiden, then Lindir's sister Oreleth would be my choice."

Aragorn nodded, adding a log to the fire, "So do you approve of me courting your sister."

"Sure," Elladan nodded, "I trust you. I trust her. That's all that matters. If she loves you, then she loves you. Though there's no accounting for choice."

"Hey," Aragorn sputtered as he took a sip from his waterskin.

Elladan smirked, "Get to rest, mellon-nin."


	12. Journey Days

Miril was up in the morning and set out the food for the others. She had been on watch last and decided to give them another ten minutes before waking them up. Slowly but surely, the others came to. Elladan was the first one to wake up, having smelled the rabbit that was smoking over a small fire. He smiled and helped Miril get out the rest of the fruit that was to round out their small meal. Aragorn was next, and he tapped Elrohir awake. The half-elf twin jumped awake, unsure of who was tapping on him.

Miril laughed, "Are you scared, Elrohir?"

"Nay! Of course not," Elrohir puffed out his chest.

Elladan chuckled, "It is okay, brother. You can be scared."

"I wasn't scared!"

"No. Of course not," Elladan smirked.

Elrohir grumbled something inaudible as they each took their plates from Miril and ate their meal quickly as she put out the fire. They cleaned their plates in the grass before packing them back into the saddle bags. Mounting up, the four of them began their trek to Weathertop. They planned to sleep there that night, then reach Bree by the next day. They guess that Barliman Butterbur probably wouldn't want them inside the Prancing Pony, but it was worth a shot. If that didn't work out, they would pitch their camp outside the city walls in the woods. Then Aragorn would send word to Halbarad via the rangers that guarded the Shire. He would send word that the servants of the enemy were amassing and that everyone need be on their guard. They would say nothing of the ring, except to Halbarad himself it they met up with him.

The ride to Weathertop went without a hitch and they reached the monument late that night. Climbing up into that fateful dell, they gathered dry wood and stashed it in a corner. Miril got out her knife and carved into the stones the letters ML. Miril Lôminzil.

"Now I shall never be forgotten, even when I have passed," she smiled.

The crickets were singing and the wind brushing through the rock face up against her own skin. It caught her smile and caused a chill to go down her back. It was indeed December, and it got no warmer the more West they went. Indeed only going South would help that! But alas, that was not to be their fate. At least not for Miril, as she currently saw her plan.

For indeed the reason Elladan and Elrohir had been sent with Miril and Aragorn was so that while the rangers got in touch with their fellow Dunedain, the elves could contact groups like Gildor Inglorian's refugees. But after that, they would ride back to Rivendell and up into the northern High Pass above Rivendell. From there they would ride south towards Lothlorien. Meanwhile Aragorn and Halbarad would search down the Greenway all the way to Tharbad.

"You shall never be forgotten, Miril, even if you name is not on the rocks," Elrohir said sincerely.

Elladan attempted to hide a smirk. Only Aragorn caught it and he too hid a smile, much more effectively than his elf friend. Soon they fell asleep, using rocks and their saddle bags as pillows and their cloaks as blankets. For it was much colder up on Weathertop, even in the dell, than in a forest where they were more shielded from the wind.

In the morning they again ate a quick breakfast before walking their horses down the slope of Weathertop and hopping back on the East Road. The land slowly changed, growing greener and flatter as they went along until at last, that evening, the town of Bree was in sight.

"Let me handle this," Aragorn insisted, dismounting from his horse and going up to the gate keeper. It was a new man, no longer Harry.

"Four travelers, looking for a place to stay the night," he told the gatekeeper, "Also with four horses, and willing to pay to stable them."

The gatekeeper undid the latch and opened the gate for them. He looked in awe upon the twin elven brothers, for despite their classification as "half-elf" they were indeed very elvish with only a little blood of man. As such they tended to "glow" or appear more regal than someone like Miril who was more 50-50 elf-man.

The four travelers walked their horses to the Prancing Pony and Aragorn went inside, leaving his steed with the other three.

"Barliman," he said to the fat but jolly man, "I am in need to two rooms."

"AH! You again!"

"Yes, we are on urgent business for Gandalf," Aragorn nodded.

"Gandalf," Barliman said in a hushed cry, "Very well, very well. Nob, go stable Strider's horse and the horse of whoever else is with him. Send the other in!"

"It's three others, actually," Aragorn corrected him, "But we only need two rooms, two beds each."

Soon enough Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir stepped inside. Nob had taken the horses and put them in the stable. Barliman Butterbur looked genuinely surprised, and for good reason. He hadn't seen elves here in many a long year. In fact, he could only remember one time, and that was when he had been but a child and his father had run the Inn. He couldn't take his eyes off the faces of the twins.

"Here, let me show ye to your rooms," he said finally, turning away and walking them down a corridor, "One set of you can sleep in here, the other across the way."

Aragorn and Miril ducked inside the one on the right and threw their stuff on their respective beds. Elladan and Elrohir did the same in their rooms. Before long, the twins came over to the Rangers' room and the four of them decided to visit the tavern half of the inn.

It was busy in the room, busy enough that few patrons noticed when three half-elves and a Dunedain ranger walked inside and sat down at a table in the corner. But Butterbur quickly came over and they ordered drinks.

"And so, then Master Underhill just DISAPPEARED!"

Miril and Aragorn looked up at that, letting themselves find the source of the conversation. It was a small hobbit, from Bree by the accent, who was standing on a table and telling a bunch of other hobbits the tale. There was little doubt in the four-man company's mind that this was a commonly told story now that the whole affair had blown over. Nevertheless, Aragorn did his best to remain inconspicuous in case one of the Breelanders recognized him.


	13. Tavern Time

Miril yawned as she took her beer from Barliman Butterbur. She thanked him, plopping down some coins for the four's drinks. Aragorn had told her to be in charge of the money.

"So, what are the plans?" Miril asked them quietly.

Aragorn sighed, "There is a ranger post not far from here, as you know, Miril. I plan to head there and find out where Halbarad is. Elladan, what will you two do?"

The twin looked up from where he had been supping at his wine. Wine wasn't ordered much in the Inn, but Butterbur had fortunately had a case or two deep in the back. He'd given the twins a bottle on the house.

"We shall seek out one of the halls of the elves. Gildor may already be past this way, but Finya's company should be nearby I would think," he turned in question to his brother. "You know the movements of our kin better than I, Elrohir."

"Indeed," Elrohir agreed, "Hecilion's company should be about a half day's walk from here."

"Who's Hecilion," Miril asked the brothers, not familiar with the elven name, "Who would name their child the Outcast One?"

Elrohir shrugged, "Hecilion is an elf who claims to be descended from Ecthelion of the Fountain. Just how many of our kin believe him…"

"But he is a just elf," Elladan added quickly, "A kind soul. Though a bit rash. Yet I think we can trust him."

"We have little choice," Aragorn reminded them quietly.

The room was growing steadily quieter. More and more folk were leaving the room. Only a handful of patrons were still there, and many had gaunt, suspicious looks on their faces. Miril was uneasy about them, but she said nothing immediately.

"Maybe we should head back to the rooms," she whispered after a few moments of quiet conversation. "The others are making me nervous."

Aragorn agreed, and the four companions arose out of their seats. They put their cloak hoods up as they walked to their rooms, past the other few patrons. Eventually they reached their rooms and they decided to congregate in Aragorn and Miril's room. It was a cozy fit as the room was not that large. There was a small fireplace between two beds, a desk on one side, and a small rocking chair on the other. Elladan took the rocking chair, Elrohir the desk chair, Aragorn the bed, and Miril stood beside her foster-uncle.

"What time should we leave in the morning," Miril asked them.

As the youngest, by far, in the group, she would yield to the others. She made no claim to know the best course of action, though at thirty-nine, she had seen her fair share in the world. Nevertheless, she knew that her elders were even more experienced.

"You and Aragorn should leave before us, before dawn," Elladan chipped in, "I should think it wise for the two of you, who are likely to be recognized, to leave before the inhabitants of Bree wake up. We can leave later."

"My plan exactly," Aragorn agreed with him.

"Let us rest then," Elrohir said, "For though we need less sleep than you, it is nice to rest when one can!"

Miril laughed, "Agreed!"

"You sure you don't want to share a room with my brother," Elladan smirked.

Miril blushed but looked positively alarmed, "Nay!"

Elrohir looked slightly disheartened but he laughed nonetheless, "It appears you are stuck with me, brother!"

The elven twins left to go across the hall. Aragorn began to change out of his traveling clothes into more comfy, cleaner pants. Miril, getting out her sleeping clothes, put them on with a stretch and a yawn. Scratching her head, she climbed under her covers and blew out a candle that sat next to her bed.

Aragorn spent a little while longer checking to make sure the windows and doors were locked, the lights were out, and weapons were within reach. When he finally got into bed, Miril was already asleep and dreaming.

* * *

_The sky was blood red. The sea mirrored its scarlet hue. A single ship sat at a dock, waiting to cast off. It was shaped like a swan, its prow decorated in white birch and lindon wood. The sand was a reddish-brown, soaked by the outgoing tide. In the wet sand, being washed over by the waves every few seconds was a jewel._

_Miril stood with her feet just barely being washed by the waves. She looked down at the precious stone before her. It shone with an unnatural light, its radiant beams illuminating the sand around it. She put her hand out to touch it before suddenly it vanished. Everything around her vanished._

_She stood on the dock now, her bare feet warm on the smooth wooden beams. She looked at the ship that sat moored to the dock and examined it. It was beautiful. Purely white, with gold and blue accents, it stood as a pinnacle of hope amidst the red sea and sky. It was an escape. The easy route. She knew she should take it._

_But she could not. It was not her time… and the jewel. The jewel was too attractive. She wanted to hold the shining gemstone with all her heart, to acquire the beautiful light contained within its crystal being. But she could not. It was not her time._

* * *

Miril woke with a start. Aragorn was already up and dressed. He looked at her as she gasped while waking up, concerned for his friend.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," she nodded. "My apologies. I don't know what came over me. It must've been a dream."

Aragorn looked at her in concern, "What was it about?"

"Nothing," she brushed it up, "Trust me. Let's just get going before the sun rises."

"Agreed."

They ate a quick breakfast of bread and cheese before packing up their bags and heading out to retrieve the horses. Leaving Nob, who apparently had slept over in the stables, the amount owed, they took out their horses and led them down the street to the gate.

The gatekeeper wasn't sad to see them go.


	14. Meeting with Halbarad

"By Elbereth," Miril muttered as they got out of earshot of the guard, "you'd think they'd be nicer."

Aragorn smirked. "Really? They were just recently attacked by Black Riders. Right after a Ranger showed up. Would you be happy to see us?"

"Suppose not."

They walked for some time before mounting up on their horses. They rode along the path towards the Shire, but turned before they reached Buckland, heading north instead. They traveled until almost three in the afternoon before they saw a deep dell that was lower and thick with trees than elsewhere in the surrounding areas. A stream flowed out of it and joined the Brandywine farther down along its course.

"They should be in here." Aragorn dismounted and Miril followed suit. Both drew their weapons, ready for anything. "Stay with the horses, Miril."

She objected, but Aragorn silenced her with a look. If things went wrong, one of them had to live long enough to report back to Elrond's sons. Miril wanted to point out that as hopefully future king of Gondor, she should go instead of him. But he wouldn't listen.

Aragorn crept forward, his sword at the ready. He made his way down the small hill into the dell and saw a small set of tents up ahead.

"State your purpose!" a loud voice sounded from above him.

"It is I, Aragorn."

"Aragorn!" yelped the voice from above, now sounding much less grownup, and much more like a child. "Halbarad! Aragorn is here!"

Halbarad had already come out of his tent and grinned. "Gimlon! I heard him the first time."

The child in the tree climbed down, eager to see Aragorn, his chieftain and king. The child was maybe thirteen years old, with brown hair and brown eyes. He looked in wonder upon Aragorn.

"You are a good guard, young man." Aragorn nodded, placing on hand on his shoulder. "Would you do me a favor?"

"Anything." Gimlon assured him.

Aragorn smiled. "Outside the trees is a friend of mine. Tell her to come in please."

Halbarad looked surprised then flashed him a knowing smile. "She's here, is she? Good. It's been too long since I saw my daughter."

A minute later and they heard someone crash through the trees. Aragorn and Halbarad broke off their gentle banter and turned to look in surprise. They found Miril flat on her face

"Sorry." Miril apologized as she picked herself up, insisting that Daeroch her horse had pushed her.

"Miril." Halbarad grinned, walking forward and embracing his foster-daughter.

Miril smiled too, closing her eyes as she inhaled the familiar scent of the only father she'd ever known. She hugged him back, before they broke apart and examined each other.

"You look well, father."

"As do you!"

Aragorn grinned, "Come, friends. We have much to discuss."

Gimlon, unsure of what to do, awkwardly shifted his feet. Halbarad turned to him before the three friends walked away.

"Well, back to your post!"

Gimlon nodded and shot up the tree like a squirrel.

Aragorn and Miril tied their horses up as a few other Dunedain appeared from their tents. They greeted Miril and Aragorn warmly before returning to their jobs. Halbarad explained that Falinor and Merther were out hunting, and that Arthea was busy collecting herbs. These three rangers had been companions of Miril's since she was younger, and were stout warriors of the Dunedain besides this fact.

"So, Aragorn, I assume you bring news of the hobbit?" Halbarad said as the three sat down on the grass inside his tent.

"Indeed. Much has transpired since I called you back here," Aragorn nodded. "We were able to get Frodo and his companions to Rivendell, but not before the Nazgul caught up with us. The Witch King got Frodo with a morgul blade. Fortunately, we reached Rivendell before he faded fully, but we were sent with the Sons of Elrond to contact you and the elves. Elrond spoke to me before we left. He is considering sending a company Eastward. He wants us to check down to Tharbad for news of the Enemy's movements. I will accompany you. Miril is going to return with the twins to Rivendell before heading on to Lothlorien to speak with the twins' grandparents."

Halbarad nodded, deep in thought. "The Tharbad expedition will take about two weeks, maybe three. But the twins will be much longer. How long is the Ring to remain in Rivendell?!"

"For months, perhaps." Aragorn sighed. "There is little we can do. We must be sure the road is not riddled with the enemy, whichever road is taken."

"Which road do you think they will send it?" Miril asked Aragorn quietly. She had been silent for a long while.

He refused to answer with more than a cryptic "whichever is the right way."

As the sun set, Aragorn stood and turned to Miril. "It is time for us to sleep. Go get our stuff from the horses, Miril."

She nodded and got up, leaving the two men alone at last.

"What news of the warg riders up north?" Aragorn quickly asked him.

Halbarad frowned. "They are spreading exponentially. And it is always the same. They "seek the daughter of the Spirit of Fire." Our kin in the ruins of Annuminas have faced many attacks as of recent. They fear they must leave the city soon or be eradicated by the Enemy."

Aragorn nodded sadly. "It is as I feared. However, it is good that we are keeping Miril out of their grasp. If they knew where she was."

Halbarad involuntarily shuddered. "I dread to think of it. If we thought the murder of Eldir was bad, how much worse would they treat a woman? Who knows what they'd do to her before killing her?"

"It is true." Aragorn agreed with him. "But perhaps the Enemy's focus will switch to the Ring now that it has been found and she can rest more easily. How is Tinnudir holding up? I assume Calenglad is doing his best to keep it safe?"

Halbarad nodded. "That settlement is doing well, though its resources are beginning to stretch thin."

Miril came back inside carrying two large packs. "Here!" She dropped them on the floor.

"Where should we sleep, Halbarad?" Aragorn asked his friend.

Halbarad considered this. "Miril, you can sleep with Althea in the tent over, Aragorn can sleep in here. That way we all have enough space."

It was also unspoken that the two men would have much to discuss concerning keeping Miril out of the hands of the Enemy. For the Enemy was ever searching for her.

Searching for the descendant of Haleth and Caranthir.


	15. In the Inn

"You should leave soon," Aragorn told Miril the next morning as they sat around a fire with Halbarad, eating cooked pheasant and berries. "The Twins told us they would be back at Bree by sundown tonight."

"Indeed." She nodded, taking a bite of the bird's delicious meat.

Elladan and Elrohir had planned on contacting the elves of Hecilion's traveling group by sundown yesterday, and would be at Bree by tonight. At least, that had been the plan. From there, the Sons of Elrond and Miril would ride back to Rivendell, up through the treacherous High Pass, and down the Silverlode into Lothlorien. Meanwhile, Aragorn would remain with his Rangers and lead the party down south to Tharbad.

It was a good plan. A solid one. Miril was glad to be going with the twins; secretly she hoped to pick up Gollum's trail east of the mountains. No doubt he was sneaking around there somewhere. Probably just outside the High Pass. Maybe in Mirkwood.

When Elrond had initially told them their route, Miril had immediately asked why they didn't just go over the Path of Caradhras. After all, a quick trip there and down the Dimril Stair, and they'd be right outside Lothlorien. Elladan was quick to point out that it was almost November. It was winter. They would do well to steer clear of that savage mountain.

So down the Anduin, through the Gladden Fields it was. Miril did not mind this at all. Any chance to visit Lorien, no matter how hard the journey, was a good decision. Besides, it meant more time to spend with her good friends, Elladan and Elrohir.

"I had Gimlon pack up your gear while we ate." Halbarad pointed to the young boy who was attaching two packs to Daeroch. "We've restocked your food and arrows for your bow."

"Thank you." She nodded. "I should be on my way, then."

Halbarad looked at her sadly. He would miss her. It had been a ruthlessly short visit. It had been several months before since he'd seen his foster daughter and he did not know how long it would be until he'd see her again. Or even if he'd see her. Hers was a dangerous job.

Miril got up and hugged her father. She would miss him. It had been a terribly short visit. And she did not know when she would next see him. Or even if she'd see him. His was a dangerous job.

"Take care of yourself. Don't do anything stupid. Or anything I wouldn't do," he told her sternly, pulling away and holding her arms.

She smiled. "Do not ask that, father. You know I can't do that."

It was true, Halbarad supposed. Her propensity to rash action and stubbornness was something she had no doubt inherited from her forebearers, Haleth and Caranthir. What a pair. Haleth had been a headstrong leader of her people, unwilling to accept help from the elves. Caranthir had been prone to anger and rash action, often arrogant and self-absorbed. How they ever ended up bearing a child together, though raised solely within the House of Haleth, was beyond Halbarad.

"Farewell, Miril. Stay safe, and keep the twins out of trouble," Aragorn told her as she mounted Daeroch.

She laughed. "Indeed. Though it is a hard request, I will do my best to honor it! Farewell!"

She took off down the small, faint path that led back to the road. It was easy going from there on out, as there were very few travelers on the East-West road, even the section between the Shire and Bree. But she did encounter something very strange near the end of her journey.

"Tom Bombadil?!"

"Hey there, merry dol! I haven't seen you in some time, young lady!" said the man with the big hat. He was leading five ponies behind him while sat atop his own.

"I could say the same to you." Miril laughed. "What are you doing out of the Old Forest, my friend?"

"Well you see, I heard about the attack on Bree. Seems these ponies escaped and found my here Fatty Lumpkin! So I was just returning 'em to their proper fellows," he said.

Miril chuckled. "Very good! Mind if I accompany you the rest of the way!"

"Be my guest! This isn't land of mine. You can do as you please." Bombadil laughed back at her. "Though you might want to give that beast of yours a rest soon! That poor horse of yours seems to be getting mighty tired."

Miril agreed, but there was little she could do. She had to reach Bree town by nightfall, and it was already getting late. The sun would be setting soon. So they traveled by horse, or pony, all the way there while singing funny little jingles that Tom Bombadil seemed to make up on the spot. Miril found it very entertaining.

When they reached the gate, the gatekeeper was loathe to let them in, but finally allowed it. Miril showed Tom Bombadil where the Inn was, after which she went to stable her horse with Nob.

"Back so soon!" Barliman Butterbur asked her in surprise as she finished up her stabling and went inside the inn.

Tom Bombadil was just leaving, chuckling to himself. She caught something along the lines of "half-elves and halflings. What else is next?" He was gone soon though, returning swiftly to his land in the Old Forest.

"Indeed, Butterbur. Have my two elven companions returned yet?" she asked him.

"No." He shook his head. "You're welcome to wait in a room or in the tavern for 'em though. But I'll warn yah, Bill Ferny is in the tavern tonight."

"A room would be best, thank you."

"Suit yourself. Right down the hall, third on the left. Should be unlocked, Nob just cleaned it." Barliman Butterbur pointed down towards a partially opened door.

Miril thanked him again and picked up her saddle bags that sat on the floor beside her. She trudged down the dimly lit hall and said hello to a cat that passed by her feet. She smiled to herself as the tale of Queen Beruthiel's ten cats. Nine black to gather news, one white to keep track of the others.

She reached her room and opened the door. After she was inside and use some flint that sat on the table to light the fireplace, she closed and locked the door and lay down on her bed. She allowed her eyes to close for a little while. Again, she dreamed of red seas and skies, a bright jewel, and a shining ship. She was awoken from her nap by a rapping on the door.

"Yes?"

"May we enter, Lady Miril," Elrohir asked with a smirk from the other side of the door.

She rolled her eyes and got out of bed, unlocking the bolt and allowing the twins entry. They came in looking cheerful and not at all tired. Perks of having a lot of elvish blood, she supposed. She wasn't exhausted, but as she was just woken up from a nap, she was still slightly fatigued.

"I take it your trip was a success, then," Miril supposed.

"Indeed." Elladan nodded, taking a seat on the desk chair. Elrohir leaned against the door while Miril sat on her bed. "We found Hecilion quickly and told him what he needed to know. And yours? I assume you found your Ranger friends? Was Halbarad there?"

Miril nodded. "Yes, he was. Aragorn stayed behind of course to help search down to Tharbad. Messengers are also being sent north to Annuminas and Tinnudir."

"Excellent!" Elrohir smiled. "Then we shall return home tomorrow, pack for our voyage up to the High Pass and down the Anduin, perhaps join up with Glorfindel's group as they travel down to search the Gladden Fields."

"Where is Erestor's company going again," Miril asked the twins.

"Ettenmoors." Elladan smirked.

She shuddered. "I do not envy them! Trolls are a nasty business."

"Well I'd be slightly worried if you said you _liked_ trolls," Elladan pointed out in amusement. "But you speak truly. Erestor has his work cut out for him."

After a while, Elladan stood up from where he'd been sitting and told Miril and his brother that he was going to the tavern for a drink. Surely the majority of the patrons would be gone by now? It was nearly one in the morning.

Elrohir took his spot in the chair. He observed Miril quietly. She sat in silence, her fingers tracing over the cut edges of her beryl, her eyes glazed as she was lost in thought. He gave a small smile.

"What are you thinking about, little one?"

That jerked her out of her dazed state as she rolled her eyes. "For the hundredth time, I am no longer little!"

Elrohir laughed, "You are compared to me."

She frowned slightly, looking away. He frowned in response.

"In all seriousness Miril, what is troubling you?"

She sighed. "I have a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, Elrohir. A feeling that I cannot shake. Coupled with the dreams I've been having…"

"The ones about the gem and the ship?"

"Yes. I do not know what to do about it." Miril sighed.

Elrohir nodded silently. The dreams. He had spoken to his brother about them in passing, retelling how she had seen the white swan ship and the shining jewel. Elladan had suggested they bring it up with their father, but something had kept Elrohir from doing so. Some odd reservation. Perhaps he should speak to Mithrandir about it when they returned to Rivendell in a few days? Surely he would have guidance. And if not him, then surely the twin's grandmother! Galadriel would know what to do.

"I am afraid this is a demon I cannot help you face right now," Elrohir said sadly. "However, know you are not alone. I am sure it is nothing."

"Yeah." She chuckled. "It's probably nothing."


	16. Into the High Pass

It took many days of boring travel to reach Rivendell again. Very little occurred on their journey, other than one minor problem when a fox scared the horses and caused Miril to almost fall off. She caught herself in time, but it looked less than graceful.

Other than that, it was uneventful, and soon they were riding down the path into the hidden valley of Imladris as the sun set behind the horizon. They immediately went to the Last Homely House and found Lord Elrond in his library doing some research into the Ring.

"Father." Elladan greeted him. "We have returned and shall leave for the High Pass tomorrow morning. Has Glorfindel's company already started on their way?"

"Nay." Elrond shook his head. "I had them stay and wait for you three. Did Aragorn contact his rangers then?"

"Yes," Miril told him. "We found Halbarad and they are sending companies north to Annuminas and Tinnudir, and south to Tharbad."

Elrond nodded. "Good. Good. Then get a night's rest and be ready to leave at sunrise with Glorfindel and his company. See me before you leave tomorrow, my sons. I have sent word ahead to the Beornings that you would be passing through the High Pass so do not worry over that."

The Beornings were the descendants and loyal followers of Beorn. Grimbeorn was their current leader and he and his fellow Beornings kept the High Pass clear of orcs.

"Of course, father." Elrohir nodded his head.

The three half-elves left Elrond's company and split to go to their quarters. Miril went her way along the path to the house adjacent to the main one. That was where her rooms were, along with a few other elves of Rivendell. When she got inside, she set down her packs. Before she went to bed, she wanted to bathe. Most elves used the stream below the waterfall as it was out of the way and not too deep. Getting a towel from her dresser and a bar of soap from her closet, she made her way by oil lamp down to the bottom of the waterfall. It was quite dark out, with only what little light filtered down from the houses above to light the path. When she reached the water's edge, she undressed and waded into the frigid water. It was terribly cold, but because of her elvish blood, it affected her less than a full man.

She cupped water into her hands and splashed her face as she waded chest deep. She used a small towel to wipe the dirt and grime from her body. She used the soap to clean her face, wiping off the dried blood, dirt, and mud from her fall at the Dunedain camp.

Miril allowed her fingers to travel up and down the healing cut from the Nazgul's blade that was present on her cheek. Thanks to Elrond's healing abilities, it hadn't become infected and was healing well. It was sewing itself shut day by day, leaving a nasty looking scar.

Once she was all finished she waded back out and wrapped her body in a large towel to dry off as much as she could before slipping into the clean clothes she had brought along down to the river. The lamp was running out of oil so she hurried back up the hill to her bedroom in the house. The lights were mostly out, as the elves who were not enjoying a night's rest were at the Hall of Fire drinking and singing.

Miril lit a candle on her bedside table and finished combing her hair and getting ready for bed. Unlike the elves, she _needed_ to sleep often. Some elves just enjoyed the waking-dream state they entered, others only bothered with it once and a while.

She blew out her candle as she crawled beneath the covers. Tomorrow would be another long travel day.

Miril woke up the next morning to the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. That meant she had very little time to get ready. Thankfully she had repacked her bags last night! Changing into some ranger garb, she ran down the path towards the stables where the twins had planned to meet Glorfindel and his elven company after visiting with their father.

"Am I late, my Lord?" she panted as she reached the stables.

Glorfindel smiled and shook his head. "No you are not. Here come the sons of Elrond now."

"Are we ready to leave, Glorfindel?" Elrohir asked as he and his brother reached the small group of elves.

Glorfindel turned to look at his three elven companions. Miril and the twins knew them well. There was Garavon, Colldir, and Mirmegil. Garavon and Caladir were cousins, both men quite capable with swords and bows. Mirmegil, she was one of the best trackers in Rivendell who most often went out on hunting trips, but knew how to handle herself in battle well enough. Miril was on good terms with the two men, but Mirmegil was always alouf and never was willing to talk to the half-elf. Miril, when she was younger, had first met Mirmegil and had tried to tell her that since they had the same prefix, Mir, they must be destined to be best friends. Mirmegil had shut that down pretty quick.

Miril knew that Mirmegil was not the woman's father name, but was a name given to her by her peers. This was known as an Epesse, a professional name given because of something of significance. In Mirmegil's case, she received the name "Jewel Sword" because of a sword she pulled out of troll hoard when she was a young elf. It turned out to be a sword of dwarven and elf make, a sword of Nargothrond of old, according to Elrond and Glorfindel. She was allowed to keep it on the condition that she would use it only for the betterment of her people.

"Let us be off," said Glorfindel, pulling Miril out of her stupor.

The company mounted up on their horses and began riding up the northern path to the High Pass. It was already frigid by noon, when they reached the entrance to the mountains. They were met by one of the Beornings.

"Who passes this way." He demanded of them.

"Lords Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir, along with their companions. I believe the Lord Elrond sent word to Grimbeorn that we would be passing this way." Glorfindel dismounted and walked up to the Beorning.

The Beorning nodded. "Ah yes, Grimbeorn has told me of such. Very well, you may pass."

They nodded and Glorfindel leapt back up on his horse. He led them forward into the High Pass. Miril shivered slightly from the cold as snow fell around them. They continued to climb higher and higher into the mountains.

"We must seek for a Beorning outpost to rest the horses tonight," said Glorfindel. "Though I am sure the Beornings do a good job of keeping the Goblins at bay, we are less familiar with their hideouts than these good men."

"My father told us there was one on the path that we'd reach by today's end. He said Grimbeorn would be there," said Elladan.

"I thought as much." Glorfindel nodded. "Then come, let us carry on."

Indeed right before the sun set, they came upon a small enclosed village-like settlement in the High Pass. Great big rocks served as barriers along its edges, and a wooden gate was closed shut. Torches hung on either side of the gate. A Beorning gatekeeper was seen atop a watch tower above the gate.

"We come in peace." Glorfindel dismounted. "We are elves of Rivendell. Your leader knows of our travelling. We request entry."

The Beorning climbed down from his post and unlocked the doors, allowing the elves entry. All of the travelers dismounted like Glorfindel and led their horses after them into the large open space.

They were met by a particularly large fellow with a burly beard and dark, bushy eyebrows. He had a giant axe on his back and his clothes were fur-lined to keep in the warmth.

"Grimbeorn." Glorfindel bowed to the leader of the Beornings. "We thank you for your hospitality."

"Yes. Allow my people to take care of your horses and then come inside. Elrond was vague when it came to the nature of this trip. I desire to know more." His voice was rough and deep as he spoke. Miril was surprised to find he nearly reached up to the elves in height. Very few men could boast the six foot frame of even the shortest elves.

They handed over their horses to a few men who took them inside a stable to their right. Grimbeorn told them to follow him inside the Great House that was straight ahead.

It was warm inside the Great House. It was decorated in beams carved with stories of animals, totems sat on tables to decorate, and the wood gleamed with polish. A great fireplace spanned nearly the entire length of the House down the center while on either side sat long tables. Miril breathed in the scent of cooking meats and soups from an adjacent room. A large wolfhound dog sat at the foot of a wooden throne at the end of the Hall.

"This is beautiful," she said in amazement.

"Yes. Yes it is." Grimbeorn echoed her thoughts.


	17. Grimbeorn's Hall

Grimbeorn stalked through the hall. He came to a long table near the front and pointed at them.

"Sit. We shall have food while you tell me of your journey and your purpose."

The group obliged. All seven elves, or half elves, sat upon the mahogany benches that were surprisingly comfortable after a day of riding. Glorfindel sat on one side of the head of the table where Grimbeorn positioned himself. As the eldest Lord there, he was in charge despite the Twins being Elrond's sons.

"Brin! Bring us dinner!" Grimbeorn called to a woman in an adjacent cooking area. "Enough for eight!"

He turned back to the elves. Looking intently at each of their faces, he finally turned to Glorfindel.

"Why are you traveling the High Pass?" he asked in his distinctively deep voice.

"We need to cross the Misty Mountains," Glorfindel began with the obvious excuse before elaborating slightly when he saw Grimbeorn was not satisfied. "We bring important news to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien regarding the Enemy."

"If it is news worthy of a delegation of elves of such high esteem as yourselves, then surely it is important. What is it?" Grimbeorn leaned in.

Glorfindel hesitated. Grimbeorn leaned in further. Suddenly, he was interrupted by several women carrying plates of spiced meats and cooked vegetables. They placed the food before the elves and the chief Beorning.

"We shall discuss this after we eat," Grimbeorn decided.

Glorfindel nodded and the elves dug into the food. The enjoyed the meal heartily. They knew it would be one of the last well prepared meals they were to have until Lothlorien so they savoured it.

Mostly they ate in silence as music was played by young Beornings elsewhere in the Great Hall. Miril caught sight of a young girl playing a flute and smiled at her. The girl smiled shyly back and kept up her music.

Miril looked around the Great Hall. She looked at the wood carvings and tried to decipher them. Many confused her. Giant beehives the size of a man, dogs standing upright and serving food, a giant rock amidst a stream. A giant bear. She wondered what the story was.

"I see you looking at our carvings," Grimbeorn interrupted the silence. "They tell our history."

"They are beautiful," Miril smiled. "But I do not understand them."

Grimbeorn nodded. "Perhaps before you leave you shall understand."

The great man turned back to Glorfindel. "Now. What is the news you bear. I understand you cannot tell me all, but surely safe passage is worth something more than the gold you have paid as a tax."

Glorfindel nodded slowly. "Indeed. All that matters to you and your people is this: The Enemy is returning in full force, and he seeks the Shire. He has already crossed the River. He has crossed the Mountains. He is returning."

Grimbeorn sighed. "Grave news you bring, Glorfindel. Grave news indeed."

"We do not bear this news lightly either. We have seen first hand the Enemy," Glorfindel continued. "Miril here has been attacked by the Enemy's minions already while bringing these tidings to Rivendell."

Miril showed Grimbeorn the ugly, scarring cut on her cheek from where the Ringwraith had struck her. She felt it with her fingers and noted that, actually, the scar was beginning to settle into a less puffed out appearance for which she was thankful.

"I see. No doubt the goblins will become a bigger problem henceforth, " Grimbeorn nodded. "Once you have delivered your message, do you plan on returning this same way?"

"Yes. Though we will likely be in two separate groups by then. The Sons of Lord Elrond might stay longer in Lothlorien," Glorfindel revealed, not desiring to explain that they weren't all, in fact, going to Lothlorien.

"I will accompany you through the Pass." Grimbeorn decided soon enough on this course of action. "I need to return to my settlement by the Carrock and alert my men along the way to this increasing threat."

"We would certainly value your company." Glorfindel bowed his head in respect.

"For now," Grimbeorn said after a few minutes more of music, "I suggest you retire to rest. I know elves do not require sleep like men, but we do despite our uniqueness."

"Of course. Where shall we sleep?" Glorfindel rose from the table and the others followed suit.

"There is a guest house next to the Great Hall. I shall show you it."

The group followed Grimbeorn out of the Hall and into the frigid outdoors. The night was actually quite well lit from the moon and stars, as well as the great fiery torch lamps of the Beornings. They were led to a small wooden guest house and shown inside. They found their packs were already there beside beds that had been made for them.

"We are indebted to you, Grimbeorn. You do us great service," Glorfindel nodded. "This is something the elves will not forget."

"Rest now. We ride in the morning." Grimbeorn left them be.

"He's correct." Glorfindel turned to his company. "We must rest."

Miril tossed and turned all night until at last she could deal with it no longer. She rose from her bed which fortunately was not far from the door. Slipping on her boots and cloak, she slid silently out of the cabin. But apparently she was not silent enough.

As she walked forward into the night, she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Whipping around, she was surprised to find Elladan behind her.

"What are _you_ doing up?" she hissed through the cold.

Elladan smiled. "Thought you were the only one who couldn't sleep? Or did you think you were the only one crazy enough to leave the cabin."

Miril shrugged. "Both."

"Why _are_ you out here," Elladan asked in amusement a few moments later as they both stared out into the night.

"Needed air," she muttered. "Sleep often eludes me lately."

"So my brother has told me."

Miril looked at him in surprise before shrugging. "I didn't know he told you."

"We tell each other everything," he explained. "We have spent too much time together growing up not to."

"True." She nodded.

The wind gusted particularly strongly then and they shied away from the open air. The Beorning on guard watched them with amusement before turning back to his post. Elladan muttered something about 'blasted wind' but Miril didn't catch it all.

"Sometimes these days I feel like the Sea is calling me. Not like for elves to pass over, but to find something." She sighed. "I don't even know what I am saying, Elladan. It makes no sense."

"You really should speak to my grandmother when we reach Lothlorien," he encouraged her.

Miril nodded. "I plan to. Maybe Lady Galadriel can help."

"If there is anyone in Arda who can help, it is she." He spoke with confidence that reassured her. "She can unravel your mystery, this I am sure of."

"In that case, we should probably head back inside so we are able to travel in the morning," Miril joked.

Elladan laughed. "Indeed."


	18. The Cairn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted this on Tolkien's birthday, after a year of abandoning this fic. Happy accidents.

Grimbeorn and the elves left after a good breakfast that morning of eggs and meats. Their horses were well rested and ready for another full day's journey through the mountains.

They guessed their journey through the High Pass would take them today and tomorrow and out by the next. There were snowfalls that came and went all throughout the travel day which made things slower.

Miril rode Daeroch into the middle of the group. They rode two abreast. Glorfindel upon Asfaloth and Grimbeorn upon his hearty beast went in front, followed by the Twins. Then Miril rode beside Mirmegil with the other two male elves bringing up the rear. Mirmegil kept her grey cloak's hood up over her face for the entire time, limiting Miril to silence.

All through the day the wind gusted around them. Their journey back would be much more treacherous, that was for certain. It would be mid December by the time they would reach the High Pass coming back from Lothlorien.

"We are fortunate the snow is light." Miril looked to see if Mirmegil would respond.

The elven maiden sighed and turned to face Miril. "Indeed. It would be more treacherous if the snow was harder."

"I dread our return," Miril said with a frown. "Though I suppose you will be returning sooner than us. The Gladden Fields are much closer than Lorien."

Mirmegil nodded. "I do not fear the snow, in any case. Let it come."

Subconsciously, Miril looked to the sky and hoped no one was up there to accept the challenge issued by Mirmegil. Half expecting the snow to pick up, she went back to her silence as Mirmegil returned to her own quiet contemplation.

Elladan and Elrohir were riding side by side as they often did. The wind made conversation difficult unless two were right next to each other. As such, private conversation was possible despite the high number of elves. Even their keen hearing was no match for the intensity of the winter wind.

"She had another dream last night." Elladan told his brother this as quietly as he could.

Elrohir sighed. "They seem to be becoming more frequent."

"You have not told father. Why?" his brother asked him.

Why? He wasn't entirely sure. All Elrohir knew was that something was keeping him from bringing the dream up with Elrond. Misplaced, perhaps, but certainly there. He let the silence drag on for a moment.

"I am not certain," Elrohir revealed.

Elladan shrugged his shoulders. "She told me last night that she plans to talk to Galadriel when we arrive about it."

"We had spoken about that, yes," Elrohir said.

Suddenly Mirmegil gave a shout.

" _Yrch_!"

Everyone froze as she held up her jeweled sword, the one of ancient elvish and dwarf make from Nargothrond. It was glowing brightly blue.

Suddenly they heard a shout from Garavon and Caladir at the back. One of them was slammed off the back of his horse and lay on the ground, a goblin on top of him.

Everyone dismounted, Garavon trying to get the goblin off Caladir. But it was too late. The goblin had stabbed the elf with a dagger in his neck.

More goblins began climbing out of cracks in the wall. There were maybe twenty five of them. Small and agile and full of malice, they lacked but one thing: coordination. This made them relatively easy to pick off one by one.

Grimbeorn swung his huge axe and pushed four goblins off the ledge. The horses, quite scared of the fighting, struggled to remain on the ledge. They scurried forward, almost taking Grimbeorn with them. He managed to dodge the stampede and went back to killing goblins.

Glorfindel grabbed a particularly small goblin by the neck and held up up off the ground.

"Take a message to your master. Stay away from the High Pass or suffer the consequences."

Glorfindel dropped the goblin to the ground and it scurried away in fright. The few remaining goblins followed suit.

Glorfindel hurried over. "Is Caladir-"

"He's dead, my Lord." Garavon said sadly as Caladir was his cousin.

"May he rest well," Glorfindel sighed. "Come. We must find the horses and hurry on. Bring his body if you wish it, Garavon. We shall build a cairn for him if we can."

"Aye, my Lord."

Grimbeorn had gone ahead and managed to calm the horses down. When the elven party caught up to them he sighed upon seeing Caladir's limp body.

"A tragedy, indeed. My men must step up their defense of this area." Grimbeorn handed the reins of Caladir's horse over to Garavon.

They all mounted up again and continued on in silence. Mirmegil kept her sword out but it remained pale. No glow warning them of orcs.

By nightfall they reached yet another settlement of the Beornings. It was set up very similar to the one from the night before. Grimbeorn dismounted his steed and the elvish company followed his example.

"Once your horses are stabled we shall honor your fallen comrade," Grimbeorn said. "I shall have my men prepare a cairn immediately."

The elves and half elves left Caladir's body with a man of the Beornings while they went to stable their horses. Meanwhile Grimbeorn spoke to the men of the settlement and they began to construct a cairn. Within twenty minutes, well after nightfall, the cairn was ready. The Beornings not on guard duty or busy in the kitchen came out and joined the the group as Garavon lay Caladir's body upon the cairn.

"Farewell, cousin. May the Halls of Mandos be restful for you," he whispered, laying a hand on Caladir's cold chest.

Stepping back to the other elves he watched as Glorfindel was handed a large torch. He walked forward and lit the cairn.

Miril watched as the flames danced around the body of her fallen comrade. She hadn't known Caladir well at all, but the sadness on the face of Garavon, his cousin, was enough to make her feel the loss.

After all, she knew that kind of loss. The loss of Eldir her brother at such a young age still stayed with her. Though it was nearly thirty years in the past, that day was a day that she could never remove from memory.

Later that night, Miril found herself woken by nightmares of Eldir's death. She'd woken in sweats with Elrohir concerned by her side.

"Are you alright," he whispered. "You were thrashing."

"I need air," was all she said.

Throwing on her cloak and boots, she pushed out the door past Elrohir and walked through the couple inches of snow that lay on the ground. It crunched loudly beneath her feet as she sped forward.

Elrohir followed her. "Wait, little one."

The fact that she didn't bite back with some kind of retort worried him. But she did stop racing away. He caught up to her.

"Is it the dream again?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not that one."

"What then?"

She paused, reaching into her pocket. She fingered a worn, brown button that she kept hidden at all times. Her eyes watered as memories flooded back. Memories about Eldir.

"Nightmares," Miril said quietly. "You weren't there that day, Elrohir. The day… The day he died."


	19. House of Beorn

Elrohir sighed. "Actually, we were. We arrived late that night and spoke to Aragorn and Halbarad."

Miril looked surprised. "I forgot about that. Still, you did not see the body. You did not see what the orcs and warg did to him."

"True enough," he said. "I cannot imagine what it was like for you. The closest I've come is finding my mother after… after…"

The pause was palpable as both half-elves were lost in their own, dark thoughts. Miril thought back to the horror of that bloody day when Eldir was brought home dead. Elrohir could not get his mind off finding his mother after her time captive by orcs. Both had been the toughest of days.

"I will hunt, I will kill, every last orc in Middle Earth," Elrohir hissed angrily, a fire dancing in his grey eyes that seemed to reflect the anger, the wrath, inside him.

"I'd gladly join you." Miril nodded her head fiercely. After all, she had done her fair share of orc hunting in the past.

* * *

_Miril, at the age of thirty, was placed in command of a small unit of Rangers centered out of the ruins around Annuminas. Six rangers were at her command, four men and two women. Strong, capable warriors and trackers were they. Solid hunters, too._

_The ancient city of Annuminas, once the center of Dunedain life, housed but a small Ranger settlement now. Nonetheless, it worked well as a base of operations for the Dunedain who operated north of the Shire._

_Halbarad had sent Miril north towards a small area around Lake Uial, a lake that was hidden from most and thus did not appear on the majority of maps. Here, rumors that warg riders had been sighted were widespread among the rangers._

_"Track them down. Make sure the settlement by Lake Uial is safe," Calenglad, the leader of Annuminas' dunedain told her._

_Miril rounded up her rangers and sped off towards Lake Uial. It would be several days' travel before they reached the settlement there. She hoped, praying to Eru, that there would be plenty of orcs to hunt._

* * *

 

Elrohir sighed and unclenched his fists. Now was not the time for vengeance. Vengeance would come, but for now he had a mission to complete in bringing news to his grandparents.

He turned instead to his companion, "What do you remember about your brother, Miril?"

"I remember he was always there for me," she murmured. "He would hold me when I was frightened. He would tell me stories of mother and father. He kept me entertained when I was bored. He was wonderful."

"Hold on to those memories, those feelings. Cherish them, little one. Eldir will always be with you if you do that."

The next day passed like the previous, just without goblins. Again that night Miril was restless but she restrained herself and managed to fall back to sleep. After all, that morning they would leave the mountains at last.

"How long until we reach the end of the High Pass," Miril asked Grimbeorn as they saddled their horses.

"A few hours. Certainly by lunch we will be free of the cold and rocks." He looked satisfied with his saddling job and led his horse to the gate of the settlement.

"I will not miss this weather," Miril heard Mirmegil tell Garavon. "It is already treacherous and only but the beginning of November."

Silently Miril agreed. She was worried about returning this way later the next month.

"Mount up," Glorfindel ordered. "Let us be off."

They did as instructed. Following Grimbeorn and Glorfindel on the steadily downward path, the horses and riders began to feel warmer by the hour. Soon enough the snow was gone and small patches of weeds were seen growing out of cracks in the rocks.

"We are approaching the exit of the Misty Mountains," Grimbeorn announced. "Once there we shall travel together for a short time more as I intend to reach the Carrock by evening. You are welcome to stay in my house, as once another company did with Beorn, for the night."

"We would be honored, Grimbeorn," Glorfindel nodded. "We will not turn down an offer to avoid an extra night in dangerous territory."

Soon, indeed, they reached the exit of the mountains. Grass and dirt was beneath the hooves of their horses once more. The air, though not warm by any stretch of the imagination, was not as frigid as up in the mountains. Miril rode alone between the Twins in front of her and Mirmegil and Garavon behind her. She looked all around, taking in the greenery she always took for granted back near the Shire and Rivendell. The last time she's been East of the Misty Mountains had been when Gandalf and Aragorn asked for her help in tracking Gollum. That had been what felt like ages ago.

"The Carrock is about three hours travel from here," Grimbeorn announced to the company. "I must, however, stop at a settlement not far from here to alert them to the growing threat."

They all nodded in understanding. As chief of the Beornings, Grimbeorn had a responsibility to his people more so than to the company from Rivendell.

When they eventually did reach the old house of Beorn, now Grimbeorn's estate, Miril was surprised, but things also began to make more sense to her.. Kind of. The giant behives described in the wood carvings of the great houses of the Beornings were made true to life as there appeared rows of behives that came up almost to her chin.

"I can't go in there," she muttered.

Her fear of bugs was magnified when the bugs were as big as her arm and could fly.

Elrohir looked back when he noticed she wasn't there. Already half way through the bee hives, he looked at her in confusion.

"Coming, little one?" He called back to her.

She hesitated. She didn't want to look weak in front of Grimbeorn or the elves she didn't know well. Miril inched her horse forward. It didn't seem to mind the bee hives.

"Just keep moving forward," Elrohir said as he rode back towards her. "Don't think about the giant bees flying around you. Oh. And don't make them angry, at least that's what Grimbeorn said."

She glared at him as her knuckles were turning white from her intense grip of the reins. Miril continued to simply look straight ahead. She tried to focus on something other than the sound of loud buzzing that was all around her.

"You're doing well," Elrohir encouraged her. "Almost there."

At last they were through as the fading light of day was just hiding behind the house. Elrohir and Miril stabled their horses and went inside. Grimbeorn was finishing placing supper on the table.

"Did they give you any extra trouble?"

"Nay, it was fine." Miril stiffened at the question before sitting down at an empty place.

"Good


	20. On the Gladden

**The best revenge is to live on and prove yourself.**

**\- Eddie Vedder**

We must leave soon," Glorfindel addressed the company. "Take twenty minutes to pack and then be ready to leave."

They were in for a long trek down the Anduin. They hoped to reach the Gladden Fields within three days' time. From there, Elladan, Elrohir, and Miril would continue South another nine or ten days to Lothlorien.

Food was stocked up from what Grimbeorn was willing to part with. They gathered their belongings and saddled their horses. Grimbeorn was there to see them off.

"I wish you luck. Be sure to slay many orcs along your way." He waved to them for a moment as they rode off.

"Thank you, again, for your hospitality, son of Beorn. We could not have done this without your help." Glorfindel bowed to him before mounting Asfaloth and riding after the others.

Reaching the river soon enough, they turned right to head south. Much of the trip was spent in relative silence, with only the sound of the rushing water beside them. That sound reminded Miril of the Sea in her dreams.

She had been to the Grey Havens a few times in her life so she had seen the ocean. The ship of her dreams resembled the ships that Cirdan and his folk built, but wasn't exactly the same. It had a more defined swan-shape. Almost like the stories she'd heard about the swan ships of Alqualondë from long, long ago.

But why was she dreaming of a red Sea and sky? It was almost as if the sea was stained with blood. Ominous, indeed. She was curious as to how this related to the other important part of her dreams, the shining jewel.

It was always about the size of her palm, diamond like but iridescent. It seemed to produce its own light from within. It was pure, unadulterated, beautiful white light, untouched by the red of the Sea. She got the sense that it was very old and very special.

"We'll stop here and give our horses a break. Be sure to eat something," Glorfindel said, snapping Miril out of her ruminations.

They did as instructed, allowing their horses to graze and drink from the river Anduin while they hid from prying eyes beneath some trees.

"I can't wait until we reach the Gladden river. It is slow enough to bathe in," Miril muttered to herself as she sat down, looking at the perfectly good water of the Anduin that was moving just a little too fast to be safe for wading.

"At least we can refill our water daily. The Anduin is good for that at least," Elladan reminded her as he sat down beside her against a tree trunk, a piece of bread and an apple in hand.

She nodded. "I suppose."

She took a bite of the pear she had grabbed from her food bag. The fresh fruit tasted wonderful to her starving stomach. Grimbeorn certainly had been a generous host, if a bit abrasive and brash sometimes. However she certainly had not been sorry to say goodbye to the beehives he maintained.

"I am glad to finally be heading South," said Elrohir as he came over to sit as well. "Each step is a step closer to Lothlorien."

"And hopefully a step closer to answers," Miril murmured quietly.

"Answers will come, Miril, but you must be patient." Elladan placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure you will find what you are looking for soon enough."

It wasn't long at all before Glorfindel had them up and riding once more. He led the way atop his magnificent white steed, Asfaloth. As strong as any horse but the legendary Mearas, Asfaloth dutifully carried the great elven Lord everywhere.

Miril pat Daeroch on the neck. She whispered something in his ear and flicked the reins so that he cantered up in between the Twins.

"This silence is tiring," she complained.

Elrohir smiled. "Well what would you propose we talk about?"

She shrugged. "Do not ask me. Talking seems to be your expertise, between the two of you that is."

They spoke together, the three half elves, for some time until the sun began to sink beneath the horizon and Glorfindel called for a halt.

"We will rest the horses here tonight," he said, pointing to a clump of trees about a hundred feet from the water's edge.

Dismounting, the group led their horses to drink before bringing them back to the campsite. Miril got out her pack to use as a pillow and took off her cloak so it could become a blanket. She was actually quite tired that night. She supposed the hours of restless wakefulness over the past week had worn her out.

"Elladan, Elrohir, " Glorfindel said. "Take first watch."

The rest of the company lay down and, as was the way of elves as they slept, blended living night with deep dream. Miril was soundly asleep before long.

Elladan rose from his seat facing East and walked around to where his brother sat facing West. He nudged Elrohir who stood and went to where Elladan had been on watch. This way they grew not bored or sleepy.

Nothing especially interesting occurred on their watch, and before long they woke Mirmegil and Garavon for their turn at watch. The Twins went to sleep for a couple hours.

It took two and a half more days of boring travel before they reached the Gladden Fields. The company set up camp for the day in a thicket not far from the Gladden River, on the eastern edge of the marshland.

That night, Miril went to take a bath in the river when Glorfindel grabbed her arm.

"Something is wrong about this place, Miril. Take one of the Twins with you and don't stray too far." Glorfindel gestured to where Elladan and Elrohir were busy laughing and eating the last scraps of their dinner.

Miril sighed but nodded. She walked over to the Twins and put her hands on her hips.

"Glorfindel insists I take one, or both, of you to watch my back while I bathe. Says it's too dangerous for anyone to go alone."

"Alright. Come on, brother." Elladan nodded. "Duty calls."

The three friends walked ten minutes down the river until they found a suitably hidden location for both Miril's privacy and all their safety.

"If either of you peek," she warned, "I will kill you."

They didn't doubt her for a second. They turned and watched the horizon as she undressed and took a small cloth into the river. Scrubbing the dirt and grime from her body took some time. The fight with the goblins had sprayed her with their blood and it was difficult to get off without soap.

Eventually satisfied with the state of her body, she dunked her head into the water and scrubbed her scalp. She felt much cleaner as she wrung her hair out and waded onto the side where her clothes were. Drying off with her cloak, she slipped into her Ranger gear and lastly strapped on her boots.

"You're alright now," she told them.

The Twins also took turns washing in the Gladden river. Miril carefully brushed her hair as she looked out into the surrounding areas for potential threats. By the end, nothing had been spotted and they were merrily making their way back to camp when suddenly they heard a howl.

Mirl knew that howl.

"Wargs," she hissed.

They broke into a run trying to reach camp. As they did so, they found Glorfindel and the others busy looking out into the distance, weapons drawn.

"We heard them too," Elrohir nodded to their leader.

"Tonight we must be ready." Glorfindel peered into the darkness. "They may not no we are here, but we cannot be sure."

"Let them come," Miril said, bristling with rage. "Let them try."

For fifteen years, Miril had hunted the wargs of Middle Earth. For fifteen years, she had led expedition after expedition West of the Mountains to eradicate the beasts that had stolen her brother from her. It was time that the wargs East of the Misty Mountains tasted her fury, too.


	21. Vengeance Granted

 

Nothing immediately attacked them. They continued to hear howls from various directions, mostly North. It was possible the wargs were busy attacking some poor woodsman. Many woodsmen had settled near or in the land protected by the Beornings.

It was quite sudden that the howling stopped. That put the company more on edge than ever. They felt watchfulness around them. There was something coming.

Elladan was the first to see the wargs.

"Ai!" he shouted, drawing the attention of the others.

The warg leapt forward and Elladan sidestepped the massive creature. Miril grinned, eager for vengeance. Elladan sunk his two swords into the creature's flank. It howled in agony and he barely had time to remove his swords before it spun around and faced him straight on.

Meanwhile the three full blooded elves were tangling with two other wargs. Glorfindel and Mirmegil used their swords to keep the wargs occupied while Garavon repeatedly stabbed either when one turned away.

Miril and Elrohir raced to help Elladan when suddenly a large, white warg separated them. Elrohir looked between Miril and his brother, unsure who to help.

"Help your brother!" Miril yelled at him. "I've got this completely under control!"

Elrohir nodded and continued to his brother's aid. Miril meanwhile was faced with one of the largest wargs she's ever seen. She smiled.

It leapt at her and she rolled away to the side. Unfortunately it managed to rake her arm with its claws, though the damage was mostly superficial. Miril, angrier than ever, hacked at its snout. It yelped in pain.

The white warg's pelt was splattered with red blood. Its red eyes narrowed in anger and it bared its teeth. Miril laughed.

"Come on," she taunted it. "Come and get me."

The warg ran at her. She slid under its belly and stabbed upwards. The force of her blow combined with the speed the warg had been traveling meant her sword was ripped from her grasp.

That wasn't good.

The white warg was dead, but she was reduced to a long knife, a weaker, smaller blade. She was also sprayed with warg blood all over her face. A warg slunk towards her unseen, smaller but more agile than the others. Maybe an adolescent.

Miril barely managed to catch sight of it before it landed on top of her, knocking her to the ground. Using her knife, she hacked at the beast's face, stabbing it in the eye. It wailed, releasing her. Miril scuttled backwards, trying to get to her feet.

It was about to charge again when Glorfindel stepped between her and the warg. He had his sword and a flaming brand. He said something along the lines of "begone, foul creature," before stabbing it with first his sword and then the fiery stick.

The warg howled in agony, tearing away at top speed. The other remaining warg soon followed. Everyone looked around at the multitude of dead wargs. There were four, large carcasses.

"Food for a month," Elrohir muttered, only half-joking.

Glorfindel stepped up to Miril and offered a hand in getting up. She took it gratefully.

"Well you look horrible," said Elladan as he noted the amount of blood that covered her face and chest.

"Isn't my blood," she assured them. "It's the warg's."

"What about that." Elrohir pointed to the claw marks on her left arm.

She looked down at the cuts. "Oh. Forgot about that."

Glorfindel looked at her. "Go wash your face in the river. And clean up the cuts. I will tend to Mirmegil who was also injured while you do that."

She nodded and, once more accompanied by the Twins, went down to the Gladden River. Miril knelt at the edge and scooped up the cold water in her hands, splashing her face. The blood ran red on her hands and on the cloth she used to wipe her face. It would be difficult to get out of her clothes.

Before long they returned to camp. Elrohir allowed his brother to wrap his only wound, a cut on his leg. Glorfindel had finished with Mirmegil's head gash and turned to Miril.

"Looks better now that you have washed," Glorfindel remarked.

Miril agreed wholeheartedly. "Just a flesh wound."

"Nevertheless, those cuts must be wrapped. Sit down."

She did as instructed. "Thank you."

Glorfindel wrapped the cuts in bandages, apply a small amount of salve that he had brought from Rivendell. He told her it would help prevent infection.

Once everyone had been seen to, Glorfindel told them he would take watch. He ordered the rest of the company to rest.

Miril didn't argue. She walked past the dead white warg and ripped her sword from its belly. She would clean her sword and then sleep. And that's exactly what she did.

When morning dawned, the three half elves bid the three elves goodbye.

"My Elbereth guide you," Glorfindel told them.

"You as well," Elladan agreed.

They mounted their horses and began the week and a half journey down the Anduin to Lothlorien.

The days passed without incident. They followed a regular pattern: ride five or six hours, rest for lunch and ride another five or six hours before stopping for the night. Intermittent stops for the horses to rest were also figured

The further south they went, the closer they came not only to Lothlorien, but to the shadow of Dol Guldor as well. Miril felt chilled whenever she looked across the Anduin and caught sight of Southern Mirkwood. That was an evil place. But she also felt it calling to her.

When at last they reached the Northern border of Lothlorien, Miril breathed a sigh of relief. Absolute safety was within a day's march.

"Lothlorien." Elladan smiled and took a deep breath. "Come. Let us enter."

They walked for about an hour unchallenged before a group of elves finally ordered them to stop.

"Sons of Lord Elrond," the leader said, "the Lord and Lady bid you welcome. They have sent us to escort you to Caras Galadhon. If you wish it, we shall walk through the night so you may reach that place as soon as possible."

"We do wish it," Elrohir quickly said. "Let us be off then."

They followed the blonde elves closely. The trio took in the beauty of Lothlorien in the moonlight. Miril was less accustomed to Lorien than the brothers, of course, so it was more wondrous to her.

Hours of walking and leading their horses passed and Miril was getting tired. The last few nights had been restless for her once more, though the Twins did not know this. Finally they approached the gates of Caras Galadhon.

The gates opened silently. She couldn't even spot an elf manning a mechanism. They were led inside and their horses taken from them to be stabled.

"The Lord and Lady ask you to meet them immediately," the leader told them.

The Twins nodded and beckoned for Miril to follow. She knew the way once they got closer to the largest Mallorn tree. She knew she was in for a long climb.

"Up we go," she muttered as they reached the first steps.

Elladan went first, followed by Elrohir and then Miril. The climb was very long and they reached many flets on the way up to the highest talan. But eventually they got there and went into the hall.

It was empty save for Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Though she had met them before, Miril was still stunned silent at their graceful power and silent grandeur.

"Welcome back Elladan, Elrohir. And Miril." Lord Celeborn spoke as the two elven rulers bowed as was their custom.

The three travelers bowed back.

Elrohir spoke first. "We bring news from our father."

"So we figured," Celeborn said. "Come, let us talk."

Galadriel finally spoke up. "My Lord, I do believe young Miril at least requires rest. Go on ahead, I will join in a moment."

The three males looked surprised but agreed and left the hall to retire to a more intimate, less open location, leaving Miril and the Lady Galadriel.

"My Lady, simply tell me where I may rest and I shall. Do not trouble yourself," she insisted.

Galadriel smiled. "Nay. For I sense there is something on your heart that will not allow you to rest until you have spoken of it to me. Am I wrong?"

Miril shuffled her feet and didn't make eye contact. Something made her nervous about this. But one could not refuse the Lady of the Galadhrim, arguably the wisest elf to ever be born. It was said she was second only to Fëanor in power and might.

"Indeed, Lady. Indeed."


	22. A New Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we bid farewell to the Twins...

Galadriel and Miril had descended the great Mallorn tree and were walking in the moonlit grass of Caras Galadhon. Miril finally worked up the courage to speak about the dreams.

"My lady," she began. "My dreams have been plagued by mysterious symbols that I cannot decipher."

"What might those be?" Galadriel asked softly.

"I dream of a red sea and sky, red like blood." Miril told her quietly. "Then always there is a ship, shaped like a swan and purely white. It sits in the water as if waiting for me."

Galadriel nodded. "But there is something more, I sense."

Miril nodded. "Indeed. In the sand of the shore, being washed over by the blood red sea, is a jewel. Large, shining white. The most beautiful gem I have ever seen."

Galadriel's feet faltered in their step. She froze for a split second, her face alarmed. But she recovered almost instantly.

"A gem you say. How large?" Galadriel inquired of her.

"About the size of my palm, maybe a little smaller." Miril held out her hand.

"And that is all?" Galadriel asked her quickly, a bit too quickly perhaps as Miril looked somewhat intrigued by the Lady's reaction.

"I also get this… feeling. Like I have to choose something, though I know not what." Miril sighed. "The twins thought you could assist me in deciphering it."

Galadriel nodded. Inside she was much more concerned than she let on about. The circumstances of this dream were too perfect for it to be coincidental. The one dreaming, the event being dreamed of. It was too connected.

There was little doubt in Galadriel's mind as to what this dream meant, should it come true. And for the first time in a very long time, she remembered, in detail, her younger days. The days of Beleriand and Valinor. The days of Alqualondë and Tol Eressëa. Days so bittersweet that she couldn't decide if she'd rather relive them or forget them entirely. The days of the silmarils and the War of the Jewels.

"I shall think on what you have revealed to me, young one." Galadriel turned to Miril. "These things take time."

"How long, my lady?" Miril asked sadly.

Galadriel smiled. "When the right time comes, I will be ready. For now, rest. I have a task for you tomorrow that I think you will take on gladly, though it may mean a delay in returning to Rivendell."

Miril smiled and nodded. "Thank you, my lady."

Miril had been shown to a tent that had been erected with couches for her and the Twins to sleep on. She lay down and closed her eyes, letting her dreams take over once again.

When she woke, it was midday already. Elladan and Elrohir were nowhere to be seen, most likely in conference with their grandparents. Miril decided it best to stay put until someone came to fetch her.

As it turned out, it was a young elfling who came to her first.

"Lady Miril," she bowed to the half elf. "Your presence is requested by the Lord and Lady. Please follow me!"

Doing as she was asked, Miril made the long climb up the largest Mallorn until she at last reached the Talan. The elfling showed her to a small house atop an adjacent talan that was connected to the main one.

Inside where the Twins and the Lord and Lady.

"Miril, take a seat." Celeborn pointed to an empty chair around the table they sat at. "We have something to ask of you."

Miril looked quizzically at the four faces before her as she sat down. What could they want?

"Our grandsons have told us of the impending quest of the Ring. But also, they mentioned something else. The creature Gollum is on the loose." Celeborn continued. "We have reason to believe he is residing in Southern Mirkwood, or at least that's where he was last spotted by our scouts."

"I will go after him," Miril butt in. "I tracked him once ten years ago, I can do it again."

Galadriel smiled. "Such was our hope. We will gird you with our raiment and supplies to aid you. And be warned, Southern Mirkwood is a deadly, dangerous place. When you find him, bring him here. Alive."

Miril nodded, her mind set on but one thing now. She would capture that wicked little fiend. She didn't understand both Galadriel's and Gandalf's insistence that he be kept alive, but they were certainly more wise than she so she would obey them.

"When should I leave," she asked.

"As soon as you are ready." Celeborn nodded.

Galadriel spoke up, "I shall have your supplies restocked by tomorrow morning and raiment brought to you as well. After all, your current attire has seen better days."

Miril looked down at her Ranger garb in confusion before she noticed just how much blood had stained it. She smiled at Galadriel.

"I suppose that is true."

The three half elves were dismissed and went to rest one last night. Elladan and Elrohir told Miril that they would be leaving Lothlorien tomorrow to return to Rivendell.

"One can get stuck in Lothlorien far too easily if one isn't careful," Elladan reminded her. "Time flows differently here."

"Besides, we must cross the mountains as soon as we can and from here it is about a three week journey," Elrohir reminded her.

"Agreed." Miril nodded and lay back on the couch she had claimed, her head on a fluffy pillow. "I shall leave tomorrow as well."

"Be careful near Dol Guldor, Mir. It's a dangerous place." Elrohir was very concerned.

Dol Guldor had been abandoned, as far as anyone knew, since the White Council had driven the Necromancer out many years before. Of course it hadn't done much in the long run since Sauron had seen it coming, but at least that threat was no longer so close to Lothlorien. For many years the shadow of Southern Mirkwood had retreated, but it was growing again and as far as the general public was concerned, there was very little explanation. Perhaps the Lord and Lady knew why, but no one else did.

"I'll be careful, you know I will."

The brothers looked at her skeptically. Care was not one of Miril's most common attributes. She was prone more to rash action than careful thinking.

"The Lord and Lady trust me," she protested.

They shrugged in unison. They were distracted from the conversation when an elven maiden came forward bearing the tunic of the Galadhrim and a cloak also of grey.

"Pardon me, my lords and lady," the maiden bowed. "I bring clothing for the Lady Miril from Lady Galadriel."

Miril smiled and took the robes. "Thank you."

The maiden nodded and retreated away into Caras Galadhon. Miril went behind the couch and changed her dirty dunedain gear for the better Galadhrim raiment. When she was finished, she came around and showed it off to the Twins.

"You look like a Galadhrim." Elrohir nodded in approval.

"Except for the dark hair and shorter stature, yes," Elladan pointed out with a smile.

Miril rolled her eyes. "Obviously."

Elladan and Elrohir smiled at her as they both reclined on couches. Someone brought food to them and they shared dinner. Miril, though she longed to walk Caras Galadhon, knew she must rest for her quest that would begin tomorrow. As such after eating, she lay down to sleep. Tomorrow would be a long day of travel and the danger would increase exponentially. She would need to rely on speed and stealth for this mission, not force or strength. It was a welcome change to the brute attacks she had dealt with recently.

But Dol Guldor would prove to be more than a match for Miril.


	23. Into the Woods

Miril woke around the same time as the Twins. Both half elves were strapping on their weapons and finishing the last bites of breakfast as she got up.

"Do be careful," Miril said solemnly. "You two mean more to me than almost anyone."

Elladan hugged her and promised they'd be fine. He reminded her to be careful as well. Afterwards he went to find their horses, leaving Elrohir and Miril alone.

"Mir," Elrohir signed. "Yours is a dangerous mission. More dangerous than ours. You must be extra careful."

Miril nodded. "I can do this, _mellonin_."

"I know." He smiled sadly. "You are brave and strong, Miril. I do not doubt this. But there is evil in this world more powerful than you or I."

She sighed and nodded in agreement. "You must trust in the Valar. Trust that the good will triumph over the enemy."

"And so I do," he said. "This is why I can even bear to see you leave. For I know we will see each other again. Perhaps not soon, but only the Valar know the hour of our next meeting. Maybe it will be sooner than we think."

Miril smiled a small smile and took Elrohir's hand in hers. She squeezed it tight.

"No matter where I go," she told him, "you will always be in my heart, _mellonin_."

"And you in mine, little one. Let Elbereth guide you and you shall make your way home to us," Elrohir smiled.

He placed a kiss on her head and let his hand slide from hers as Elladan rounded the corner with their horses.

"Farewell, little one," Elrohir nodded as he mounted up.

Elladan waved as he too climbed atop his horse. "Stay safe, _mellonin_. Come home to Rivendell in one piece."

Miril bowed. "I shall. Safe travels."

With a final goodbye, the twin sons of Elrond rode off through the gates of Caras Galadhon. Their path was a different one from hers, but Miril knew she would see them again. They had a part to play in this quest as much as she. They would just be apart for awhile.

Sadly she turned to finish her own breakfast. As she ate the last remnants of the food, she double checked her stash of lembas that the Lady Galadriel had provided her with. Confident in the knowledge that it was packed, she picked up her pack and strapped on her cloak. She had decided yesterday to leave Daeroch in Lothlorien. It was safer for him there. Mirkwood was no place for a horse. She stopped by the stables go say farewell to Daeroch. The horse seemed to know she would be leaving, for he nuzzled up to her as soon as she came within reach.

"I'll see you soon, boy." She smiled. "But you are luckier than I! You get to stay in Lothlorien!"

Once she'd hugged him one last time, Miril made her way to the gates of Caras Galadhon. She was surprised when the Lady Galadriel was there waiting.

"I wished to tell you this before you left: the next time we meet, I may have answers. Speak to me then." Galadriel nodded. "Best of luck, Miril Lominzil. May Elbereth guide your way back to us."

"Thank you, my lady," Miril said with a bow. "You have been more than kind to me."

"Namarië." Lady Galadriel spoke the traditional Quenya word for farewell and waved her hand as Miril walked down the path.

Once outside she was joined up with an elven scout who told her he would show her to the border closest to Mirkwood, the Eastern edge. The journey would take them a day and a half, but once they reached the border Miril found herself reluctant to leave.

"Thank you," she said with a nod to the scout. "Your help has been most appreciated."

The scout disappeared back into the woods swiftly and silently after he was dismissed. Miril looked out from the border of the trees and saw, perhaps half a day's march east, the border of Mirkwood forest.

"And so it begins," she muttered to herself as she took a step out from under the shadow of the mellyrn trees.

Because she had left Lothlorien at midday, she ended up reaching the dark borders of Mirkwood Forest after the last light of day had dispersed. The trees looked blacker than night and Miril began to wonder if this had been a good idea to begin with. She could feel the shadow of the Enemy all around her, pressing up against her, and she wasn't even very close to Dol Guldor. But she knew she had a job to do, so she steeled her nerves and took a step under the canopy.

And immediately took a step back out. She decided with better judgement to camp outside the forest that night. And so she did, her back to the open plains and her face to the dark woods. She slept little, but did manage to gain some rest at least. When morning dawned she felt much better about entering that forsaken forest.

While still very dark, Miril found she could make out enough around her to properly track something which was a relief. When she'd gotten a glimpse last night, she thought for sure her mission had ended before it'd begun because she hadn't been able to make out the forest floor well enough.

Immediately, Miril noticed several things. The first was the lack of bird noises. Bird song usually was audible in any forest. It was a sign of a healthy ecosystem. But Miril heard little to none in Mirkwood. Second, she noted the ground was steadily sloping upwards based on what she could see in front of her. For now it was very subtle, but as she walked it increased greatly. And finally, she noticed a scuttling noise barely within earshot, but definitely there. It sounded like dozens of feet moving around in the dead leaves.

She would have to be very careful. For despite the decay and dilapidation of the woods, something was clearly alive in here. Something other than her.

Miril continued to make her way silently forward until she became very concerned with how far up the land was sloping. She decided it was best to climb a tree and take a look around, for she feared the worst.

She leapt upwards and grabbed hold of the lowest branch. Swinging herself forward, she caught the trunk of the tree with her legs and inched upwards until she was standing on the low branch. Now the climbing was easier. As she reached the top and broke through the canopy, she looked forward and her fears were confirmed.

In her rush to find Gollum and her lack of knowledge of Southern Mirkwood, Miril had ended up heading straight for Dol Guldor. It was now about a three hour's walk from her current location, straight forward. She had known to check because she knew it was built on a hill and the incline gave it away.

The sun was almost setting on her first day in Mirkwood so she quickly scuttled down the tree. She had to options. First, she could head towards Dol Guldor in the hopes of finding a trace of Gollum. It was a likely place for him to be. Or she could hope to stumble over a track he left in the dead leaves around her. Neither option was a good option, that was for certain.

"I'll make that choice in the morning," she said to herself quietly. "For now I need to find a place to rest for the night."

In the end she decided to do as the Galadhrim did and sleep in a tree. Without someone set on watch, she didn't want to risk sleeping on the ground. The tree would provide at least a little safety for her. Getting out the rope the Galadhrim had given to her, she tied it to her waist and then to the trunk of the tree.


	24. Very Helpful Indeed

She heard scuttling again when she awoke the next morning. Only this time it sounded much closer. Miril untied herself from the tree and packed the rope away. She swung down and landed on her feet. Now she had to decide where to go.

Dol Guldor, though dangerous, was certainly the most likely place to find Gollum, or information about Gollum. It was very likely he at least had stopped there before. But there was no denying the danger. She didn't know what kind of evil was lurking in such a place. Most likely something old and deadly.

Really there was only one choice. She had to go and find out. She had to find traces of Gollum to start somewhere, and that was her best bet. So she continued on her march up the steadily climbing terrain, careful to hide in the shadows as much as she could.

Several hours later she came across a pool of water bordered by large rocks cut from the slab of ground by the weather. It was quite large, in actual fact, but seemed to be fed only by rainwater as no stream washed into it. Miril knew she had hit a potential jackpot.

Gollum's favorite food was fish. She had been hoping to stumble upon a body of water because there was a likely chance that Gollum would've stopped there. She came closer to the water and noted that the muddy dirt of the sides was worn. There were no leaves there, despite the leaves elsewhere around it.

In addition to this find, she spotted something even more significant. Bones. Fish bones in a pile were found near the rock wall. Many, many fish bones. Miril walked around to where the bones were and picked one up. It snapped in her hand as she placed only a small bit of pressure on it.

"Old bones," she murmured. "But this was at the top of the pile, suggesting it is the most recent. Odd."

If Gollum hadn't been here in sometime, probably about two weeks if she had to guess based on the age of the bones, where had he gone? It would explain the lack of footprints but uncovered area however. Footprints would've been washed away by rain, but the leaves take longer to fall into place.

Miril knew she had to keep moving while there was daylight. She guessed she wasn't far from Dol Guldor now, based on the height of the terrain and the distance she guessed she's traveled.

Suddenly she heard noises up ahead. She heard footsteps, different from the scuttling she'd heard earlier. These were heavy steps, belonging to something around the size of a dwarf she guessed.

She drew her knife quietly and slunk forward. Miril hoped that the Galadhrim cloth would do its job and keep her hidden. As she sneaked forward, she stayed low to the ground. There. She spotted the glint of metal through the trees. She smelled the stench of death. It was unmistakable. It was orcs.

Miril climbed up a tree half way when she realized they were coming towards her. She slid her knife under her cloak to keep it from being noticed. The two orcs came right under her.

What were orcs doing in Mirkwood? She had suspected spiders, large bats, but orcs? Things were worse than she had thought if orcs were amassing near Dol Guldor.

She quieted her mind and listened to the orcs from her perch above them.

"I'm telling you, Mazkuk," one began, "we aren't going to find that little worm. He's fled this blasted forest weeks ago!"

"Boss says ta keep tryin'," the other said, "so we keep tryin'!"

"What does he know! Damn Nazgul have come back horseless so many times, it's a wonder they're still in service!"

Nazgul? In Mirkwood? This was bad. Very bad. What had she gotten herself into? Miril wondered which of the Nazgul had taken up residence is Dol Guldor.

"Don't speak ill of the boss!" The second one growled. "You'll get yer tongue cut out, Lagrim!"

"This is a waste of time. I already know where that Gollum creature wanted to go! Any creature like him would go to the same place," Lagrim muttered. "They all end up there."

Miril started at the mention of Gollum. She slowly drew out her dagger and silently lept down go the ground. Sneaking up behind the one called Mazkuk, she sliced his throat. Lagrim spun around and growled at her, but she was too fast and caught him off guard. She placed her knife along his throat and held his arms behind his back.

"Keep your voice down or I will kill you right now."

"Blasted she-elf," he hissed, squirming to get free.

"You will answer my questions very carefully, do you understand?" She whispered in his ear.

His stench was almost unbearable to Miril but she held on. She had to ask him these questions. When he didn't answer she decided to continue.

"You spoke of Gollum," she began. "You said you knew where he'd gone. Where is that?"

Lagrim bared his teeth, "Where do all the unwanteds go? Moria of course. I heard him muttering about it when we stumbled upon him a few weeks ago."

Moria. Her stomach dropped. Of course Gollum would've gone to Moria.

"Who do you work for?" She asked her next question. "You mentioned a Nazgul."

"Three. Three of those blasted wraiths," Lagrim spat. "Led by Khamûl."

Miril's stomach dropped even further. Three Nazgul. She thought maybe she could hold her own against one, but three? Probably not too well.

"How many orcs are amassed at Dol Guldor?" She asked her final question.

Lagrim grinned maniacally. "Too many for you, she-elf. Enough to assault the witch in her realm across the river!"

"You've been very helpful," Miril smiled.

She quickly slit his throat. Couldn't have him revealing her presence. Miril ended up dragging both corpses behind some boulders nearby to hide them from any other patrols that might come their way.

At last she let herself realize what she'd heard. She had to find Gollum quickly so she could take him back and warn Lothlorien of the orcs. She would have to go to Moria. But first she would have to get out of Mirkwood. Alive.


	25. Bug Squisher

Miril had just finished stashing the orcs' dead bodies when she heard the scuttling noises once more, only this time they were very loud. Clicking, too, she heard. Sounds almost like blades being rubbed together. She had to get moving, and she knew it.

Quickly running through the forest and down the hill, she ended up not seeing a conveniently placed tree root that was before her. Miril tripped on it and went tumbling down the hill quite ungracefully until she slammed into a tree at the bottom of a steep decline. Her ankle hurt very much and now her head was throbbing from the force of the impact. She also noticed her hand was in something very sticky and strong.

It was stuck in some sort of spider's webbing. She groaned in disgust and drew out her knife with her free hand to saw through the white, sticky web. As she worked through it, the now-familiar sound of scuttling feet came back, in full force. She worked faster.

As soon as Miril had broken free of the web, she finally understood the noises she's heard. Three giant spiders with glowing green abdomens and green eyes appeared in the darkness. The scuttling had been their legs on the leaves and the scraping and clicking had been their fangs sharpening against each other. She looked at them and all color drained from her face.

She hadn't liked giant bees, and she certainly did not like giant spiders.

"Ah, Elbereth Gilthoniel!" she spoke loudly in horror as they came closer.

Miril drew her sword and backed up, but was careful not to step into webbing. She felt tears stinging her own eyes as she looked into their many beady ones. Finally they ran at her, as if sensing her intense fear.

She held up her sword and brought it down on the first spider's head. The blow was so strong it cut right through the tough skin of the spider and killed it instantly. She hoped the other two would be as easy. They weren't.

Spider number two shot spit full of venom at Miril's face, but she managed to dodge it before it struck her. As she did so, the other spider moved to bite her leg. Miril allowed her training to kick in.

Swatting at the third spider's legs, she cut the front two clean off. It hissed in anger and pain, retreating to reassess the situation and it's prey. The second spider, the one who spat venom, leapt at Miril and she held out her sword when it did so. It impaled itself on her blade.

The third spider, seeing that both its companions were dead, scuttled away into the trees. Miril fell to her knees and put her face in her hands as she leaned on her sword. She sighed, letting some of her fear escape her. She breathed in and out to regain composure.

Miril knew she had to keep moving for as long as she could. She had to get out of Mirkwood. The forest knew she was here, and that could spell disaster for her. Orcs she could handle every time, Nazgul she could deal with when she was lucky, but spiders? Rarely.

So she walked for three days and nights, not stopping even in the dark. Looking back on it she realized this had been a mistake as it in fact prolonged her stay in Mirkwood; she was unable to make good progress at night and wasn't able to see where she was going. As a result she lost the trail several times and almost got completely lost on many an occasion.

On the fourth morning she saw real sunlight coming through the tree trunks. She knew she was near the edge. It was fortunate, too, because she needed rest more than anything. Despite it being mid morning, Miril climbed a tree just before the exit of the forest and slept there nearly a full day, waking at midnight.

Miril climbed further up the tree upon waking, eager to get a better check on her surroundings. She noted that Lothlorien was ahead and to her left. The mountains loomed up straight ahead of her. That was where she was heading. Moria's eastern gate was there, past the Dimrill Dale and the Mirrormere.

Miril had never been inside Moria, but as a child in Rivendell she had spent many days studying maps of that ancient dwarf city. She'd loved maps as a child. Miril only hoped it would be enough to keep her safe in those halls of horror.

She began her journey to the mountains that morning, and it took her about a week to reach them. When she finally found herself at the Mirrormere, it was midnight yet again. She thanked lady Elbereth for the light of the stars and slunk forward under the cover of night. She didn't think orcs would be this far out, or even in the upper levels of Moria. But one could never be too careful.

The East Gate, known as Dimrill Gate, was very large. As she approached the two doors, Miril drew her sword in preparation for whatever was to come. With a hefty pull, she opened the right door just wide enough so she could get through and slid inside.

It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dark, during which time she hid in the shadows and listened. She heard nothing which was small comfort to her. Once she was able to see, Miril sheathed her sword and walked carefully forward. Suddenly she found herself out in the open, a giant cavern before her now.

A flight of stairs was in front of her and then a long, skinny bridge that spanned the fifty foot gap. She let out a breath of air she hadn't known she'd been holding when she saw the insane size of Moria revealed.

She walked forward down the steps until she came to the base of the bridge. The Bridge of Khazad-dum, she remembered it was called from her map studies. There was no way any more than one could walk abreast on that treacherous bridge. And here she was going to have to cross it.

"By the Valar," she murmured. "What have you gotten yourself into, Miril?"


	26. Exploring the Mines

"Stop and think, Miril," she muttered to herself on the edge of the bridge. "Explore before you dive in."

Heeding her own advice to herself, Miril looked around and spotted something strange. What had seemed like a ledge along the wall before was now more clearly a rugged path, designed to be inconspicuous. She decided to follow that first before risking the open bridge.

It wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination. Miril had to slide along the edge, her feet barely able to remain fully placed on the stone. But the wall had been smoothed of large protruding outcrops, making it really not that difficult, all things considered, to use the path. As she turned a corner in the ledge, she came to something she realized she should've expected. After all, almost all fortresses had one.

Miril had come upon a postern door in the rocks. Postern doors, or gates, were small, inconspicuous exits used by defenders usually to flank an enemy or as a backup plan. No doubt this particular door would allow her to sneak around the bridge as it had once allowed the dwarves to do.

"Come on. There has to be a mechanism somewhere." Miril looked the door up and down before finally spotting a small lever hidden in the wall. "There you are."

She pulled it and the door opened silently. However the amount of dust that had built up sent Miril into a fit of coughs as it was released into the air. She covered her mouth and coughed as quietly as she could. When she had finished, Miril glanced around and didn't move an inch. She listened for any signs of life but nothing made a noise.

"Blasted door." She groaned quietly and moved on into the room.

The ceiling wasn't very high at all; she could've touched it if she'd stood on her toes. No doubt the dwarves felt no need to waste time on a secret back entrance. Still, it made her slightly claustrophobic. The darkness around her was thick.

After the ceiling, the first thing she noticed was the skeletons. Very old, they seemed. Covered in spider webs and caked in dust, some clutched axes and spears while others held onto shields. Likely this had been a line of defence for the dwarves.

"Balin's company, perhaps? Maybe there are still some alive further in?" She spoke her hopes aloud but in the darkness it sounded more like a child begging for a gift.

She tiptoed around the skeletons and loose bones that littered the stone floor. Remnants of a rug of some kind, mostly eaten away by the cruel passage of time, was also before her. She carefully avoided as much of it as she could, not wanting to throw any more dust into the air.

Miril looked on ahead and opened a door at the other end of the room. It opened onto a long passage that wove its way down for quite a ways.

"Down we go, I suppose."

It made sense though. Gollum was likely somewhere down lower in Moria, not in the higher levels. So she continued down the steps inside the passage cut out of stone. After about ten minutes of walking, she found it opened onto a ledge one way where a bridge went across the chasm, and the other way opened into a large room where it appeared that armor and weapons was stored.

Her innate curiosity very much peaked, Miril decided to explore the room first. She walked inside and took a look. Ancient weapons of dwarf make lined the walls. Miril also noted that they resembled elven blades too. She supposed this was a result of the relations between Celebrimbor's folk in Eregion, and the line of Durin that lived in Moria. These weapons were from a time before Durin's Bane had walked Moria's halls.

Durin's Bane. Miril and most, if not all, scholars did not know what had driven the dwarves from their ancestral home. Something very powerful it must've been to drive an entire people out of Khazad-dum. A dragon, maybe? That was Miril's rather amateur guess. Dwarven culture had not been her study. She had spent her time studying the history of the Eldar and the Numenoreans. Her history.

Miril ran her finger along the edge of a sword blade and yelped.

"Still sharp," she noted, squeezing the small cut on her finger until it stopped bleeding.

In vain hope, Miril glanced around the room for something very specific. Mithril. But alas, none was to be found. She wasn't surprised; despite the multitude of very elvish looking blades, the orcs had likely plundered this room already. In fact the swords were still here, most likely, because they resembled elvish artifacts. Orcs hated those with a burning passion and would often not approach a sword of elf make.

Miril turned to leave the room when she noticed something slightly off. A small pile of bones was hidden in the corner. Mostly leg and arm bones, they were pushed under a shelf that held weapons.

"Hello," Miril said quietly, kneeling down to take a closer look.

Clearly they had been gathered by something intelligent. But were they from recent kills, or too old to matter much. If they were recent, it might indicate Gollum had been there. Miril reached out and pulled the top bone off the pile. She realized immediately that it was not a dwarf bone. Much more likely that it had belonged to an orc or goblin. Also there was only a very thin layer of dust, and it did not crack upon being handled.

"Definitely recent, maybe a couple weeks old." Miril said to herself.

This was very promising indeed. Gollum probably wasn't the only thing that fed on orcs in Moria, but this seemed to line up with what she knew of his habits. Upon closer inspection of the room, Miril decided there was little else of importance. Any other trace of where Gollum had gone or been was no longer there.

She left the room, heading back to where the bridge spanned the fifty foot chasm. Somewhere far above her was the Bridge of Khazad-dum, but despite that being the more obvious choice for safety to stay above the lower levels, she was glad of her choice. Not only had she found signs of Gollum, but she had found this much more pleasant looking bridge. Four dwarves could've walked side by side and still had room to breathe. There was a guard that went up to about her knee on the edges. And it looked altogether safer.

She went across the very long bridge quickly, for despite the safer appearance, it was also in danger of being watched just as the Bridge of Khazad-dum had. Once on the other side, she walked through the arched gate and into a long passage with many side rooms and side hallways.

She decided to do things systematically. Starting on the right, which had the closest door, investigate each room. She thanked Eru for the more sensitive eyesight she had inherited from her elven ancestry. It meant she could see most things, albeit in much less detail, without having to light a fire. She had constructed several torches in Mirkwood and been given a few others from the Galadhrim, so if needed she could light them.

Miril walked into the first room and noted right away there were dozens of stone beds lining the walls. Immediately she realized where she was.

"Barracks. These must be living quarters for the soldiers," she said out loud.

Curious as to what she would find with a closer look, Miril decided it was indeed time to light a torch. Using her flint and a torch from the Galadhrim, she sparked a fire and it began to roar with flames. Shadows danced all around her now, the sudden light driving the darkness away immediately.

Miril was astounded at how many beds there were. Down the center of the room stood racks of weapons and armor, but to either side along the walls were stone beds. Miril wondered just how uncomfortable they must've been. But at the moment it looked somewhat inviting. Cozy even, with the warm glow of the torch. No skeletons were in this room, but based on the amount of dust in certain piles, and the helmets and armor around those piles, he guessed that there had been at some point several skeletons both orcish and dwarven.

Deciding to check across the hall next and wanting to maximize the use of her torch, Miril left the room. She went to the door to the left of the large hallway and walked inside. It was a mirror image of the other one, only one of the several armor racks had been knocked over in this room.

She continued searching the rooms and found them all go be barracks. In the final room she was going to search that day as her torch was dying, she brushed off a stone bed in the back corner and lay down with her pack as a pillow and cloak as a blanket. Her sword was in her hand. She stomped out what little light remained in the torch before allowing herself a little sleep.


	27. Into the Deep

Miril didn't know how long she'd slept. The endless night of Moria made timekeeping difficult. Based on how she felt, it had been awhile. She felt refreshed, which was an old feeling considering her circumstances.

"No matter." She shrugged. "Time to get moving."

She slung on her pack and cloak, deciding against using a torch for now. She was heading into new territory and didn't want to announce her presence. Who knew what was down here with her?

Miril left the Barracks room she'd slept in and went into the main corridor. The reason she'd stopped when she had last night was because now the hall went off in three directions. Straight ahead continued downwards while left and right went out and up.

"Down we go."

She walked forward and began the slow, careful march down the stairs and hallway. Eventually she halted. There was something up ahead. She wrapped her cloak of Lorien in front of her and stood where she was, trying to catch a glimpse or hear again what she'd picked up on.

"Never any fishes, precious. No fishes!"

Gollum. She couldn't believe her luck. But she was not ready to catch him. She hadn't been expecting to come upon him so early on in her journey through Moria. Her rope and sack were in her backpack. Any movement would surely alert the little fiend to her presence.

So she decided to simply listen and watch where he would go.

"Just orcses, precious. Nasty little orcses. We wants fishes!" The grey diminutive figure pounded the rock with his hands. "We could go deeper, precious. Deeper to where the water is."

That didn't sound good, Miril decided. She had no desire to keep going down so far that there was water. Surely that would be the far reaches of Moria.

Gollum heaved and coughed. "Don't be stupid. Too many orcses down there! And other things."

Miril breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't go that deep.

"Maybe the precious is down there?" Gollum said in a hopeful voice before coughing and berating himself. "The precious isn't here! The precious is with the nasty little Bagginses!"

Miril sighed. So Gollum had an idea where the Ring was. Though she supposed he could be thinking about Bilbo, not Frodo.

"We hates him, precious. Hates him!" Gollum coughed and snarled. "Quiet! You'll attract the nasty orcses."

Gollum paused before perking up. "I know! We will go west to where water is near the gate! No orcses there, precious! Just fishes!"

She was frankly quite surprised that Gollum could distinguish East from West, but she supposed it was a simple enough concept that was necessary for navigation. And he'd lived here at least a month based on the evidence in Mirkwood.

Miril caught of glimpse of Gollum running down the corridor and taking the first left. After a few moments, Miril followed in his footsteps. She watched him from down the hall, counting the number of passages he went by until he finally turned left again.

"Left it is." She whispered to no one but herself.

She followed him closely before suddenly she turned left.

And ran straight into a handful of orcs.

"What's this?" One of em grinned. "A she-elf? In our home?"

Miril didn't give him time to continue. She drew her sword and skewered the orc where he stood. But by now the other four had armed themselves. They began circling her, Miril having to turn left and right to face them head on. Each time she found herself facing one, one was behind her and one on either flank.

She heard, rather than saw, movement behind her as an orc went to pounce. Swinging her sword, she caught him and another in the stomach, managing to kill one. In retaliation, a different orc slashed his sword against her arm. She restrained herself from screaming in agony as the serrated blade tore through her flesh.

She stabbed that orc in the abdomen and kicked it away. Finally, with the strongest swing she could muster, Miril beheaded one of the two remaining orcs before pouncing on the last who was clutching his torso on the ground.

Just as she was beginning to breathe again, she felt something coming up behind her. Turning towards the movement, she found Gollum snarling at her.

"It's the half-elf," he spat before coughing. "You! You want to take us from precious!"

"You, Gollum," Miril spat back, "are a worthless creature who doesn't deserve the life he's been allowed."

Gollum growled like an animal.

"And you'll never get the precious."

Gollum howled angrily and leapt at her. Miril didn't have time to react before she was pushed backwards and suddenly was really quite afraid for her life. Her sword fell from her grasp onto the cold stone of the passage and she realized that, in the dark, she had missed the fact that one "wall" was actually empty space. There was a drop. She couldn't see the bottom from where she was in the dark.

"We. Will. Get. Precious," Gollum growled as he pushed her back again.

It was then that she slipped on broken rocks and fell. Managing to catch herself on the ledge, Gollum crawled to the edge and looked down at her with his big, pale eyes. He used his fingernails to claw at her hands before finally she was forced to let go. Her fingertips were bloody and her strength from her bleeding arm failed her. The blackness engulfed her as she fell from safety into the dark abyss.

She was very surprised when something broke her fall not too far from the ledge. Maybe a ten foot drop before she hit her back on the rock. The wind was completely knocked out of her. She couldn't breathe for several moments of terror. She began to wonder if she was in fact simply dead.

But no, soon, Miril regained her breathing. And then she regained the ability to feel. And all she felt was pain. She released a small moan as she finally forced herself to sit up and take stock.

First things first. Miril undid her pack and took out her water, cloth, and bandages. She cleaned her arm wound with a tiny bit of water before wiping it dry and wrapping it in bandages. The cut looked rather nasty but wasn't, fortunately, very deep.

Next thing she had to worry about was where she was. It was, in fact, part of another passage just below the one she'd been on. It continues back into the rock as a grand hallway. Overall, she'd been really quite lucky.

Her final problem was her lack of sword. She still had her long hunter's knife which she supposed would have to do. It was about the length of her forearm and very sharp. Good for stabbing, not so much for slashing.

"Well, Miril. You certainly got yourself in quite a bind," she muttered to herself.

Finally standing up, she realized how painful that simple movement was. Her back may not have broken from the fall, but it was certainly bruised. Miril walked forward into the dark passage and continued until, at last, she found a side passage that went upwards.

"That's the one," she said with a nod. "Please be the right one."

She walked along it and, finding a small guard room, decided it was time for a rest. She had been walking for many long hours, more than she knew was good for her.

And so she slept. Despite the pain, despite the worry and darkness, she allowed herself to sleep.


	28. Drums

When she woke up, Miril was glad to see she was alone. Ever since she'd run into the orcs yesterday, she'd been worried about finding more and without a real sword, Miril wasn't sure she'd be up for it. As she sat in the little guard post room, she looked out of the cut in the stone that formed a window.

She was horrified by what she saw. She was surprised by how far she could see due to the fact that dozens of fires were lit down below. As it turned out, the gate house she was in overlooked a large, open hall. She couldn't even see the far wall, it was so big.

But she could see hundreds of orcs of all sizes huddled around the various fires. Piles of bones were scattered around including one so high that a seat had been erected atop it forming a throne of sorts. On the throne sat an orc as tall as a man.

She knew she would have to tread carefully and avoid any hallway that went down. If she was lucky, she would find one that led back up to the gate level. But for now she would simply make her steady way up.

She didn't realize it but she'd been in Moria almost five days by this point. The long darkness meant she was sleeping longer than she would've elsewhere, which in turn gave her even more energy for walking. It had been nearly three weeks since she set out from Lothlorien. A week in Mirkwood, a week in travel, and now five days in Moria.

Four more days she spent wandering those darkened halls before she made any progress. And that progress ended up being just in time.

Huge drum beats began reverberating in the tunnels around her as she steadily climbed the stairs up. It shook her very soul.

"That can't be good," she muttered.

Dum. Dum dum. The beats went very methodically. Over and over they sounded. She kept climbing. Down a passage here, back up stairs there. The air was feeling… nicer. More pleasant. For nearly thirty minutes she sped up the stairs until at last she recognized where she was as the Barracks hall.

"Thank Eru," she said aloud.

Suddenly the drums stopped. Miril could tell something was happening but couldn't see. As she ran down the corridor, she halted and looked into one of the rooms. She needed a sword.

A large sword, for dwarf size, was hanging on a weapons rack. Still sharp, she took it from its place and slid it and its sheath into her belt.

The shrieks of orcs and goblins were getting louder as she climbed. A large roar went up and the drums began again, but they were much more melancholy. Very slow and forlorn.

Miril at last managed to reach the postern door nearly an hour later. When she began to shuffle along the ledge path, she saw to her horror just how many goblins and orcs there were. Hundreds of thousands were on the other side of the massive chasm, while a company of nearly a hundred was on her side near the Dimrill Gate. There was no way she could get around them.

The biggest surprise, though, was the broken Bridge of Khazad-dum. It was broken about half way through and Miril smiled.

Whatever company was sent by Rivendell must've come this way and broken the bridge as a safety measure. There was no other logical explanation for the anger of the orcs and the missing bridge. At least they'd gotten through.

That was more than could be said for her. She'd have to wait for the orc company to leave. Little doubt was in her mind that they were waiting to go after the company of Rivendell. But they would wait until dark. So there she crouched, hiding herself with her cloak of Lorien, for the orc company to get a safe distance away.

She waited several hours there before at last the orc company hooted and yelled and moved out into Dimrill Dale. She scuttled along behind them, keeping a safe distance. It wasn't until much later when she ended up losing sight of them under the bows of Lorien. She tried to pick up their trail but instead, only found herself able to focus on one thing.

She was in Lothlorien again.


	29. Ill Tidings

Miril found herself at last nearing the edges of the trees. The familiar scent of the Golden Wood wafted through the air. It was, perhaps, more a tangible feeling than a scent, but it carried through the air like the latter. Whatever the case may have been, Miril took the precious moment to close her eyes and take a breath.

" _Daro_!"

She was snapped out of her daydreaming by a silvan voice floating through the air. She smiled and opened her eyes.

"Mae Govannen! I come in peace." She held out her hands in offering. "I am of the Dunedain and a friend to Lothlorien. Miril Lominzil is my name."

Silence followed before she finally caught sight of the two elves in the trees. In fact she only now glimpsed them as they swung down to the ground with bows out pointed at her chest. Their hair was golden like the majority of Silvan elves. One had green eyes, the other, blue. The one on the right with the green eyes was slightly shorter with somewhat more pale hair and a leaner build. This closer look allowed Miril go recognize the elf as a female. The other was taller, more muscular. His blue eyes twinkled in the starlight that filtered down through the leaves.

"State your purpose," he demanded in elvish.

Miril nodded. "I have come far tracking orcs and fear for my friends who have come before me. I ask only for shelter and rest."

"We know of both things that you speak of," the elven maiden nodded. "For many of our brethren are now hunting these orcs. And the captain of our guard, Haldir, is at this very moment returning from leading a company of outsiders into our great city."

The two elves conversed in whispers. They seemed to fade in and out of view as the moonlight danced on their silver-grey cloaks. Finally the elf male narrowed his eyes at Miril and nodded.

"The name Miril Lominzil is known to us. And you are clothed in our raiment. As such we will allow you to make your way into the Golden Wood to the city. My companion, Halloth, shall accompany you there."

"Much thanks." Miril bowed to the elves.

"Tonight we shall rest further in," Halloth told the half-elf. "A flet shall provide us shelter from the chill air and stray orcs alike."

The two maidens journeyed deeper into the forest by foot. Miril, despite her keen eyesight, almost lost Halloth multiple times in the darkened forest of silver Mellyrn. A few hours into their journey, Halloth told Miril it was time to rest.

"I can see that despite your eagerness to journey onwards, you are tired. Rest tonight, secure in the knowledge that you are safe beneath the bows of these trees. Come, climb the ladder I will lower for you."

Halloth scampered up a particularly large tree and vanished from view. Miril waited patiently at the bottom of the silver trunk for the ladder. She touched the bark of the tree and felt how alive the great plant was. The ancient tree had stood there longer than many an elf. How Lothlorien had managed to stay so well preserved for so long, Miril did not know, and could not even begin to guess.

The ladder was at last lowered. She climbed the rope ladder diligently and reached the wooden flet soon enough. It was placed in the branches of the large Mallorn tree and had a screen that could be moved around the edges to block the wind from any direction.

Miril sat down with her back to the trunk and closed her eyes. She did not sleep right then, however, as she could feel the elf maiden's eyes watching her intently.

"Yes?"

The maiden furrowed her brow, "You have elvish blood, this I can see now. How can this be? Elves do not court Men."

"Things are somewhat different, West of the mountains." Miril shrugged. "Stray elven companies wander the wilds alongside bands of Dunedain Rangers. And the elves of Rivendell often come in contact with my people."

"Your people," Halloth asked in confusion. "You are a half-elf. Are there many of you then? Enough to form a people?"

"Ah no." She shook her head. "No, half-elves are indeed rare. I consider myself a member of the men of the Dunedain, for I was raised from infancy by one of their leaders."

Halloth nodded in understanding. "I see."

The conversation obviously over from Halloth's perspective, the elf maiden turned to watch the ground around the tree. Miril, in turn, closed her eyes and wrapped her own cloak around herself, curling up into the folds of the tree. At last she slept.

When early morning came, Halloth roused Miril from sleep and offered her a piece of lembas.

"Eat."

Miril didn't argue and ate the filling bread. When she had finished, Halloth lowered the rope ladder down and allowed Miril to descend.

"It shall take a day and a half from here to reach the city." Halloth said this to Miril as the two women began their march. "Perhaps slightly less depending on how fast we travel."

"After my rest last night, I can travel through the night tonight," insisted Miril.

Halloth nodded. "Good. Then we should reach Caras Galadhon by morning."

The going was rather easy compared to her journey the many weeks previous. She felt safe under the silver branches of Lothlorien. She had been here a handful of times in her life, always accompanied by the Sons of Elrond. But this was her first time traveling beneath the bows without the constant teasing and laughing of the twins. It was nice. The hours they spent walking during daylight, however, weren't nearly as enjoyable for Miril as the walk in the moonlight and starlight.

Miril marvelled at the silver bark as it glinted in the light that filtered down. The shadows in Lorien were richer, darker, yet safer than anything outside that realm. The trees formed protective walls beside her as she journeyed deeper into the woods.

But nothing prepared her for the brilliance that was witnessing the sunrise in Caras Galadhon. The city of the giant Mellyrn.

"Come, we must take you before the Lord and Lady. They will confirm that you are Miril Lominzil." Halloth beckoned her forward towards the largest tree that Miril had ever seen.

Twice before she had made the climb that was to be required of her. She knew indeed what to expect.

"You may proceed. I will follow behind," Halloth instructed.

Miril began the arduous task of climbing the many ladders and flets up to the top. It took awhile but Miril hardly noticed. As always, she was too taken up with the area around her. The sun was now shining through the branches even more fully, dappling the flets she passed and glistening off the golden hair of the Silvan elves. When at last she reached the top, she straightened up.

The talan, as the elves referred to the extra large flets at the height of the trees, was so large that a great hall sat atop it. Through it ran the still large bole of the Mallorn tree.

The chamber was filled with a soft light; its walls were green and silver and its roof of gold. Many Elves were seated there. On two chairs beneath the bole of the tree and canopied by a living bough there sat, side by side, Celeborn and Galadriel. They stood up to greet their guests, after the manner of Elves, even those who were accounted mighty kings.*

Miril bowed, even lower, back to the two monarchs. She felt their gentle gazes on her head. Straightening up, she smiled a small smile.

"So you have returned, young one," Celeborn nodded.

"Unexpected to you, perhaps," Galadriel continued, "but not to us."

"My lady?"

"You're friends are here," Galadriel refused to answer the subtly posed question. "It shall gladden their hearts to see you. Aragorn especially."

"Where are they and who has come, my lady?" She asked.

"Elrond sent a fellowship of nine. Gandalf and Aragorn led them with the four hobbits, Legolas of Mirkwood, Gimli son of Gloin, and Boromir son of Denethor. I shall have you shown to them. I am sure you would like to see them," Galadriel gave a soft smile.

Celeborn nodded. "Rest. Regain your strength. Heal your wounds."

"Brethion," Galadriel beckoned to an elf standing in attendance, "show Miril to the company."

"Of course, my lady."

Miril bowed low to the monarchs once again before leaving the talan with her new elven guide. Halloth had left, apparently, to return to the patrols near the river.

Descending the great Mallorn tree was not nearly as taxing as the climb up. Soon enough she was on the ground once more and being shown to a great green space where she found large tents had been set up with lounging chairs and low tables. Several people were there, asleep. She counted seven. Gandalf was not there, but Miril was hardly surprised. No doubt he was somewhere in Caras Galadhon doing work for the greater good, as he always was. Legolas, as well, was not to be seen. Yet again this was of no surprise to Miril. He was likely exploring the great city.

She smiled as she looked upon the sleeping forms of the Fellowship before her. The four hobbits were sleeping peacefully on the ground atop blankets. Gimli, Boromir, and Aragorn were upon couches. Aragorn looked more calm than she had seen in a long time, yet… yet he seemed sad. Forlorn, almost.

Perhaps he felt her staring, because Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at her in confusion.

"Miril?"

"Yes."

Aragorn sat up so fast he almost felt dizzy. She saw the look of confusion on his face and smiled. She put a finger to her lips to quiet him and gestured to the others. He nodded and stood, coming over to her and leading her away from the group. He embraced her warmly.

"Miril what in the Valar's name are you doing here?"

She smiled. "I was tracking Gollum but lost his scent in Moria. Apparently the bridge collapsed after you went through because I had to find another way out. Anyways after his trail went cold I decided to track the orcs. They led me to Lorien."

Aragorn looked at her with sadness. "We know it collapsed. I watched it happen."

"Tell me, Aragorn, why are you sad?" Miril looked at him with growing concern in her heart.

"Mithrandir. He… he did not make it out of Moria." Aragorn looked at the ground in shame.

Miril gaped. She took a step back. Her mouth opened and closed in disbelief as she began to shake her head.

"Stop it Aragorn. Stop this jest immediately. It isn't funny."

"It is no joke, Miril. He fell in combat with a balrog of the original Dark Lord," Aragorn put a hand on her shoulder as he spoke.

Miril felt tears stinging her eyes. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Aragorn was a…

"Liar!" She snarled at him in anger, her eyes flashing with fury and despair.

Aragorn took hold of her arm. "Listen to me, Miril, he's gone. We have to accept this."

"No!" She screamed.

She tried to wrench her arm free but, calmly holding on to her, Aragorn wouldn't let go. The outburst had woken the company, however, and they watched the exchange from the comfort of the tent.

"No," she said before whimpering a last, "no."

Aragorn made eye contact with the others and shook his head, trying to tell them to stay put.

Miril allowed herself to cry softly, before using a last shrug to get free of Aragorn and she hurried away despite his pleas that she remain.

Aragorn released a sigh and walked back to the tents as she disappeared from view. Merry and Pippin looked very concerned.

"Was that Miril?"

"Is she alright?"

Aragorn nodded. "It was Miril. She just wasn't… she wasn't prepared to find out the news about Gandalf." He paused. "But she'll be fine. Don't worry."


	30. Familial Comfort

Miril somehow found herself in a beautiful garden area. Beautiful, of course, being a relative term as everything in Lothlorien was considered beautiful. Elanor and Niphredil sprinkled the patches of earth. Other flowers, some blue, some purple, some yellow, were interspersed expertly.

She remained in the garden, wandering among the flowers, for several hours. It gave her time to think. She thought about many things, but mostly about Mithrandir. She was deeply, deeply saddened by his death. She felt lost, hopeless. Miril wondered how they would succeed in their quests without him as their guide? He was their foundation. Gandalf was the rock on which they built their hopes!

And now that rock was gone.

"What are we going to do?" she sighed as she surveyed a particularly pretty set of pink flowers.

Back at camp, part of the Fellowship was having a similar conversation about a different person.

"What are we going to do, Strider?" Pippin asked the ranger. "She was obviously really upset!"

"We haven't seen her in hours." Merry nodded.

"I'm sure she's fine," he reassured them. "She's an adult. She can handle herself."

However it wasn't long before Aragorn went out to look for his friend. He wasn't exactly concerned about her, after all, she was in Lothlorien. She wasn't about to wander off into some dangerous situation.

But Aragorn knew she was rash and quick tempered, much like her forefather Caranthir who was known for exactly those characteristics. It was something she must have inherited from the Feanorian side. And more often than not those traits got her into trouble.

"Excuse me," Aragorn stopped a guard. "Have you seen another Dunedain, a woman? She's a half elf with dark hair. She should stand out among your blonde kindred."

"Indeed." The guard nodded. "She passed by this way several hours ago, heading towards the palace gardens."

"Thank you," Aragorn said in relief.

He continued along the path to the left as the guard had instructed. The path was covered in small pebbles that were quite smooth and made a pleasant sound as they crunched beneath his boots. On either side of the pebbled path was grass so green it surpassed even the grasses of Rivendell. Only the grass on Cerin Amroth was of a richer hue and sweeter scent.

Soon Aragorn came upon a large, arching trellis covered in white roses and green vines. It was the entrance to the gardens of Galadriel. To either side now were beds of beautiful flowers, some exotic, some native to that area of Middle Earth. Blues and whites and reds richer than those even found in the Shire added to the overall beauty of the path.

The sound of splashing water alerted Aragorn to the presence of the large swan fountain before he even saw it. Surrounding the fountain and covered by a Mallorn tree for shade were several flat, marble benches. Upon one sat Miril, her face turned away from Aragorn as she surveyed the swan fountain.

"Miril."

She straightened up but didn't turn to face her friend. In response, Aragorn walked forward and sat next to her on the cool stone bench. The chill surprised him at first touch, but it did not deter him.

"He should not have died, Aragorn," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "There is too much left that he needs to do."

Aragorn sighed. "I know, my friend. I know. I fear this as well. I... I do not know what course of action to take now. All I knew of Gandalf's plan was that he intended for us to shelter here after Moria. Past that..."

As he trailed off, Miril nodded in understanding. "You should seek the counsel of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Surely they know what to do."

"I will." He paused. "However something tells me they are just as in doubt as we are. After all, it is said 'go not to the elves for counsel, for the will say both no and yes.'"

Miril bent down and picked up a smooth, white stone. She fingered it in her hand, the cool, flat surface pleasing to her. She smiled a small, sad smile at the little pebble.

"Aragorn, what are we going to do?" She finally made eye contact with him and he saw the fear and doubt in her bloodshot eyes.

"We shall stick together. You can rely on me to always tell you the truth, my friend. All is not lost, I assure you. Times are dark, but things shall become clearer, this much I am confident of."

Miril nodded before looking down again at the stone. She could trust Aragorn. He had never lied to her, and she was confident he never would.

"Come." Aragorn stood after several minutes of comforting silence between them. "Let us return to the others. Merry and Pippin were especially concerned for you!"

"They have such kind hearts." Miril smiled. "They should not be wrapped up in such danger. Pippin least of all. He's so young! He's not even of age yet."

"It was their choice. And Gandalf seemed to think it was a good idea. Or at least not a bad one." Aragorn shrugged.

"I suppose you're right."

They continued to walk back to the tents that had been erected for them in a large green space within Caras Galadhon. It took very little time and soon enough they had reached the couches. The hobbits were there along with Boromir though he was intently watching the elves that came and went about him with suspicion and wasn't focused on his companion's return.

"Where has Gimli gone?" Aragorn asked the group upon their arrival.

"Legolas came back to show Gimli around Lothlorien." Pippin smiled as he saw Miril. "Miril! Why are you here?!"

Miril smiled back. "I was tracking something and lost the path outside the forest so I decided to come here."

Frodo stared at her questioningly. "What were you tracking?"

"The creature Gollum," she said. "I picked up his trail outside in Mirkwood and tracked him all the way to and through Moria until I reached the edges of Lothlorien."

"You were in Moria?" Merry asked her in surprise.

Miril nodded. "I spent many days in that Eru-forsaken place. The depths are full of many horrendous creatures and the darkness is palpable. I will not speak right now of what I saw there."

They respected her silence but she could see that the two younger hobbits were more than a little curious. Pippin was all but squirming in his attempt to keep from asking further questions about Moria. Miril nearly laughed. Boromir finally walked over to her and nodded his approval.

"It is good to have another capable warrior with us," Boromir told her.

Miril nodded in agreement. "Just wish I was here under better circumstances."

Suddenly an elf came up behind them and cleared his throat. They turned to face the newcomer, finding themselves facing yet another blonde. This time, though, instead of a warrior they were faced with what seemed to be a scholar based on the book he was carrying and the air about him.

"Honored guests of the Lord and Lady," he nodded. "I have been sent to you to act as a guide. Though you do not all seem to be here?"

Aragorn looked around before responding, "Legolas took Gimli with him to explore Caras Galadhon."

The elf nodded. "Alright. Well my services are at your disposal should any of you like to be shown around our magnificent city."

"I'd like a tour!" Pippin leapt up from the ground excitedly.

"I'd go," Frodo agreed.

Soon both Merry and Sam had also decided to join them. Eventually with some prodding, Boromir was convinced to go along. Aragorn and Miril declined the invitation politely. They insisted they had some significant business to attend to and already knew their way around Caras Galadhon well enough for their purposes.

"So what is this business you need to attend to, Miril?" Aragorn asked her.

She smiled. "I need a nap." More solemnly, she continued, "And then I need to speak to the Lady about something that has been troubling me for a long time."

Aragorn looked at his friend in confusion, "What is that? You've not told me."

She shuffled her feet. "It's nothing. It's just that I spoke to the Lady Galadriel about it with the Twins last time I was here, several months ago, and she encouraged me to follow up next time I was in Lorien."

"So the Twins know?" Aragorn asked, somewhat surprised.

She sighed in exasperation. "Yes. Well, I know that Elrohir knows, and he tends to tell Elladan everything so... in fact I'm quite certain Elladan knows."

Suddenly his gaze dropped to the way she held her arm. If was under the cloak of Lorien she wore. He looked at her in suspicion causing her to shuffle her feet and get ready to leave.

"Wait. Show me your arm," Aragorn demanded.

Miril glared but eventually she sighed, relenting. Shrugging off her cloak, she revealed an ad hoc bandage that had been tied around her arm. It was stained fed with blood, but the blood was very dark and likely a few days old.

"Were you not going to get it looked at?" He frowned. "Sit down, Miril. We're doing this now."

Miril sat on the couch as Aragorn went to his pack and fished out medical supplies. He shook his head. It was just like when she was younger.

_"I'm fine, Aragorn. Trust me!"_

_Aragorn looked at the 25 year old woman who, to normal eyes, appeared little older than a late teenager. Her face was covered in mud and her arm was bleeding._

_"You are not 'fine'," someone told her._

_They turned to look at the newcomer. It was Miril's foster father, Halbarad. He had a stern look on his face._

_"You two just enjoy ganging up on me," she protested. "It's barely a scratch!"_

_"Miril, you got a sword to your arm! You need medical attention!" Aragorn insisted, sitting her down and having a woman bring him his supplies._

_"Does it need stitches," she asked in a low, worried voice._

_"Is that what you're worried about?" Halbarad nearly laughed, but thought better of it. "It'll hurt less than if it gets infected."_

_Miril looked to Aragorn._

_He sighed. "Yes it needs stitches."_

Aragorn undid the bandage she had put on in Moria. He looked at the cut and grimaced.

"Stitches?" Miril asked him with a sigh.

Aragorn nodded. "Yes."

"Get on with it then," Miril barked at him, looking away.

Aragorn took out the needle and thread from his pack. He wiped the cut of dried blood and the oozing new blood before getting ready to begin.

"Ready?" He asked her.

She nodded, biting her lip.

He drove the needle into her reddened skin. Her quick intake of breath was proof of the pain it caused her. Pulling it through was just as bad. The thread slid through the holes in her skin causing more blood. Again and again Aragorn thread the needle through to pull together her broken skin.

It wasn't until after several minutes that he had finished and did the final loop.

"There." He smiled. "That wasn't so bad now was it?"

She glared at him. "Yes. It was."

"Can't be as painful as getting slashed with whatever caught you," he pointed out.

Miril argued that, "Actually, a sword wound hurts mostly for only a split second. The pain later, if wrapped well enough, diminishes. Whereas getting stitches hurts like the one cut, for an eternity it seems. "

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Any other injuries?"

"Nothing treatable. I had a fall in Moria and landed on my back. Just bruises, though." She quickly assured him this. "Blasted Gollum pushed me off a ledge."

He looked at her in surprise, "Really? You'll have to tell me about that some time."


	31. Treating Wounds

Miril woke from her nap to find everyone back, including Legolas and Gimli. The four hobbits and Boromir were sleeping, Aragorn was organizing his pack, and Legolas and Gimli were speaking in hushed voices so as not to wake the others. She sat up and looked around, bleary eyed. Wiping her eyes of sleepiness she turned to Aragorn.

"How long was I out?"

Aragorn looked up. "Not sure. Several hours at least. You missed dinner."

Miril noted that the sun was almost gone. No wonder half the Fellowship was already sleeping. Miril walked over to Legolas and Gimli. She had spoken to them once or twice in Rivendell but had not really made their acquaintance.

"Miril, correct?" Legolas asked. "You are a dunedan like Aragorn."

"Indeed," she nodded. "Though I am half-elven, unlike him."

Gimli nodded. "The hobbits mentioned you went in Moria. Did you fare better than us?"

"No, I'm afraid. I was tracking the creature Gollum but he ambushed me." Miril sighed. "He is an evil one, that is certain."

"Smeagol has good in him," Legolas argued. "I guarded him sometimes in Mirkwood. He is simply consumed by a desire for the Ring."

"Well he tried to kill me." Miril looked at Legolas skeptically.

Aragorn, finished with his inventory of supplies, joined the three others in conversation.

"Perhaps Gollum still has work left to do in Middle Earth," he said. "Gandalf was often fond of reminding me that it is not up to us to decide who deserves life or death arbitrarily."

Miril nodded sadly. It was true. Gandalf was always so full of wisdom. Still, that didn't mean she had to like Gollum. For ten years, hatred of that creature had burned in her heart and it wasn't going to go away any time soon.

"What is that sword you have, lass," Gimli asked, noticing the sword that she'd set on the table beside her pack.

"Oh." She smiled. "I found that in Moria. I stumbled upon the barracks. It ended up being a blessing indeed because I lost my sword when Gollum attacked me."

"May it keep you well," Gimli said. "It is from days long ago. Back when nothing could rival Dwarf make."

Miril decided she was in need of a bath. She'd snuck around Mirkwood and Moria, two very dangerous and dirty places, and no doubt needed someone to look at her back. Though she'd told Aragorn something to the contrary, she believed her back had a couple cuts. She took off her cloak and laid it down, folded, on her couch.

"Mir," Aragorn cried in exasperation as he finally saw her back beneath the cloak. "Your back is covered in blood splotches!"

Miril groaned. She trusted Aragorn was right. No doubt blood had seaped through the cloth. She turned around and faced Aragorn.

"I didn't know. I can't see my back!"

Aragorn got up and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her aside and speaking in a low voice. "Miril, you must be more careful. How many times have I told you as your friend and Commander. Your health must be a priority."

She looked down at her feet. "I know. I am sorry."

"Go wash your wounds. Then come back here so I can make sure you get to the healers tonight." Aragorn sighed.

Miril nodded and bit her lip to keep from protesting. After all, Aragorn had spoken truly. He was her Commander, her king. And her friend. She would do what he said when he was serious like this.

She stopped by the Command building for the Galadhrim warriors and managed to pick up a new set of clothing on her way to the bath house.

Aragorn sighed and sat down with Legolas and Gimli.

"She must be a handful," Legolas commented.

Aragorn flashed a small smile. "Indeed. She is headstrong, defiant, and rash. However she is also one of the best Rangers I've had the privilege of knowing, and is like family to me."

Gimli nodded. "She sounds like a stout warrior to me."

"She is. Though she is still relatively young, and has a lot to improve upon, her tracking is unparalleled." Aragorn sighed. "Unfortunately that, and other circumstances, has led to the Enemy placing a target on her back."

"She is a half-elf, yes?" Legolas asked. "Not many of that kind are found in my home. I did not think they were too common West of the Mountains either."

"Oddly enough, almost her entire ancestry has been made up of half elf unions." Aragorn shrugged. "While not common, it is occasionally the case between Dunedain and wandering elves."

Meanwhile, Miril took a hand towel and soap from the shelves in the bath house, undressed, and waded into the water. The warm water stung her sores down her back and the quick intake of breath she released hissed audibly. Retreating to where she could stand with her back above the water, she took the towel and rubbed it with soap before draping it down her back and scrubbing. It burned with every scrub she made, but she knew it was important to get as much dried blood off as possible. The healers could do the rest.

Content with the amount of work she'd done on her back, Miril turned to work on her face. Dried dirt caked her skin and made it difficult for her to scrape it off. She was just glad to have soap this time she washed. Last of all, Miril waded further in and dunked her head of hair into the bathing pool. She felt much better with clean hair.

As she got out and dried off, Miril threw on the new set of Galadhrim clothes, minus a cloak. She dried her hair as much as she could and then deposited her dirty towels and clothing in a basket at the exit of the bath house. Then she went to find Aragorn.

He was still at the tent, talking to Legolas. Gimli had gone to bed not long ago, but the Elf and Dunedain were both not tired yet. Miril guessed that Aragorn was, but he'd never go to bed before seeing that Miril got the medical attention she needed.

In fact, Miril could feel blood tricking down her back ever so slightly from where her scrubbing had reopened the wounds. She would never outwardly admit that Aragorn had been right, no, but well… he had been.

"Ready," he asked upon seeing her come back.

"Indeed." She sighed. "Let us go."

Aragorn nodded and the two dunedain went to one of the few structures not located up a Mallorn tree. They figured perhaps that if injured needed immediate attention, climbing a tree wouldn't be an option. Hence the healing house was on the ground.

As they walked inside, Miril breathed in the scent of athelas and other healing herbs. Aragorn led her forward to where a maiden was organizing jars of herbs in the back.

"What can I do for you," the maiden asked, turning to face them. "Are you injured?"

"Miril was on a mission for the Lord and Lady and has recently returned. She requires medical attention on her back," Aragorn explained to the healer.

"Please, sit." She motioned to one of the many cots. "I am Brethil."

"Hello," Miril smiled before turning back to Aragorn. "Feel free to leave now. Go to bed."

He looked at her suspiciously before nodding and speaking again to Brethil, "Make sure she actually is looked at by you. She tends to avoid these things."

"Do not worry," Brethil laughed lightly. "She will be in good hands."

Aragorn left the healing house and went back to the tent. Miril remained where she was as Brethil turned to help her.

"Remove your shirt, please."

Miril nodded and took it off.

Brethil didn't react outwardly at the number of cuts and bruises on her patient's back. Instead she went to get the herbs she would need and started small talk.

"You are clad like one of us, yet clearly you are an outsider. Also, your ears show elf ancestry. Are you peredhel? Half-elven?" Brethil asked her as she returned with a pot of hot water in which athelas was steaming.

Miril nodded. "Perceptive. Yes, I am a half-elf. I am a member of the Dunedain Rangers and friend of Rivendell and Lothlorien. Last I was here, my clothes were in tatters so Lady Galadriel gave me raiment of your people to wear on my quest."

"I'm glad. It suits you, Miril." She paused. "I am going to clean your wounds with athelas water and then apply a salve to your bruises. It should cool the burning and help with pain."

Miril nodded. Brethil began her work by using a small towelettes to wipe clean each cut with athelas infused water. Even just the smell of it in the air was enough to calm Miril and provide some comfort.

"Did your mission go well?" Brethil asked her.

Miril grimaced. "It started out well and ended poorly, I would say. Fell off a ledge, that's how I got these back injuries."

Brethil looked surprised. "Indeed! I am glad it is not worse then. You could have easily broken your back or neck."

Brethil moved on to applying the salve she'd prepared. She smoothed it across Miril's back and almost immediately the pain from the reddness and the bruises receeded. Miril let out a sigh of content.

"All done," Brethil said happily. "I will wrap the parts I have put cream on to keep it applied."

She went to her bandage drawer and took out a long roll of white bandage. It didn't take long to wrap Miril's back.

"You may put your shirt back on," Brethil told her. "And you may go."

"Thank you very much, Brethil. I feel better already." Miril smiled at the other maiden.

Brethil chuckled. "I am glad. Now go, get some rest. Wounds need sleep to heal."

"Indeed."

Miril left the healing house and went to check in on the others. Legolas was missing but the rest were sleeping soundly. She smiled. She knew she should rest, but she'd slept for awhile early during her nap and wasn't very tired yet. She decided to go explore.


	32. A Doomed Bloodline

There were Galadhrim guards stationed every so often throughout the area that comprised Caras Galadhon. Whether up in flets or on the paths below the trees, the grey clad warriors stood at attention. Miril decided immediately to go to the stables.

She took the winding path beneath the silver-barked trees, relishing the beauty of the moonlit forest. Silver lamps hung from branches of the smaller mellyrn, lighting the white stone paths. Singing she heard, off in the distance, floating to her lightly through the air. She caught only snippets of what was being spoken of, but she heard the word "Mithrandir" repeated many times. She figured they were lamenting the passing of that great wizard too.

"Daeroch. Na vedui!" Miril called lightly as she approached the stable. "Daeroch, tolo!"

Her horse, having been raised by the elves of Rivendell, clearly understood her to say "At last! Daeroch, come!" The horse whinnied and neighed, tossing his head up and down in joy upon sighting his partner and master. Daeroch trotted out to where she was near the gate to the small fenced in area and nuzzled her as Miril went in.

"I missed you, too," she said softly, rubbing his long nose.

"He is a beautiful animal," someone said from behind her. "I assume he's yours?"

Miril whipped around to see who had spoken and found herself facing Legolas.

"Indeed," Miril nodded with a smile. "Daeroch has been my companion for many years, though I stabled him in Rivendell for some time."

"Everyone else is asleep?" Legolas asked, coming over.

She nodded. "Last I checked. What are you doing up?"

"This place is far too alive for me to sleep right now." He shook his head. "I have been exploring this magnificent city."

Miril understood perfectly. "Indeed! The trees, even, feel more alive than any I ever encounter out in the wild. Every time I come to this place, my heart leaps for joy."

"You have been to Lothlorien before, then?"

She smiled. "Three times before now, actually. Though all other times I was accompanied by Elrond's sons. And they were short trips."

"They are a fun pair of peredhil, that is for certain," Legolas laughed. "It must be nice to have companions who are also like you."

Miril considered this. "I suppose. Though their lineage is much more impressive than mine. And the Dunedain are a wonderful family, that is for certain."

"If Aragorn is any indication of their prowess and skill, then you are most definitely correct!" Legolas moved to pet Daeroch's flank.

"And you haven't met my father, Halbarad. Well, my adopted father. He's one of the best. Aragorn and he are like brothers." Miril smiled, wistfully thinking of her father.

"I hope to meet him someday, then," Legolas nodded. "Well I will leave you and Daeroch alone. I have much more to do in this city. Farewell."

"Farewell," she smiled.

The elf of Mirkwood melted into the city like he belonged there. She knew his father was Sindarin, but she figured he had some Silvan blood somewhere, though this was only speculation. After all, fair hair was quite rare in Sindarin bloodlines.

"Doesn't matter, really," she chuckled, speaking to Daeroch. "He seems nice enough. Not quite Elladan or Elrohir though. Not a replacement for them."

"It must be very difficult to replace my grandsons."

Miril looked up to see Galadriel standing behind her with a small smile on her lips. Miril laughed a little.

"Indeed, my lady. They are a one of a kind pair." With a frown, she continued. "I miss them."

Galadriel nodded and walked over to join Daeroch and Miril. "As do I."

They stood in silence for a few moments before Galadriel continued. Miril didn't want to say anything and risk interrupting the Lady of the Galadhrim.

"I think it's time you hear something, Miril. It pertains to your dreams." Galadriel paused. "How much do you know of the Fëanorians?"

Miril was quivering with anticipation. "I read much about them and their dealings during the First Age, my Lady. I know that Fëanor created many things, but most of all the three Silmarils. I know that one is borne upon Eärendil's brow as he sails across the sky, and the other two were lost. I know he had seven sons, and one had Celebrimbor who created the Rings of Power. But he was the last of Fëanor's line. I know that all the sons took place in the First Kinslaying, and many of the sons died in the infamous Second and Third Kinslayings. Their actions and Oath kept them and their descendants exiled to Middle Earth."

Galadriel smiled sadly. "All you say is true, except one thing."

"And what is that, my lady?" Miril asked in confusion.

"There is another."

"Another what?"

"Another Fëanorian." Galadriel paused before continuing. "I instructed Gandalf to keep an eye on this descendent and all their children's children even unto today both for their protection and for protection from them. Edlen, we called each one down the line even unto today."

"Edlen. "Exiled"? Makes sense." Miril nodded. "Where is this elf?"

"She is no elf. She is a peredhel." Galadriel looked serious and reserved. "She is you, Miril."

Miril would've laughed had she not been able to tell Galadriel was so serious. She let it sink in. She was Fëanorian? She was a member of that cursed bloodline?

"Who am I descended from," she asked, her voice hoarse.

Galadriel sighed. "Caranthir of the Fëanorians, and Haleth of her own Great House of the Edain."

"Caranthir?" Miril's heart sunk.

Galadriel smiled sadly. "Yes. My cousins weren't always the Kinslayers they have become known as. Caranthir, or as I knew him, Morifinwë, was always a little hasty and a little too quick to anger, but he was a good friend. Until the dark times."

"I am a member of that exiled bloodline? I'm a descendant of Fëanor?" Miril was still having trouble accepting that fact.

"Indeed. The doom of Mandos has been lain upon your shoulders, too." Galadriel then smiled. "And for all the horrible things my cousins did, they were even more trouble for the Dark Lord."

"True."

"Unfortunately that is why you have been kept hidden from Sauron for so long as a Dunedain. That is why your brother was killed. The Dark Lord wants you dead, or his."

Everything clicked into place. Her cheeks grew a flaming red and her eyes narrowed. That meant more to her than Galadriel thought it would, for it told her more than just that simple fact.

"Aragorn and my father. They knew, didn't they? They knew," she huffed. "They knew and they never told me."

"Do not blame them, Miril." Galadriel sighed. "Do not-"

Miril shook her head and bowed, backing away from Lady Galadriel.

"Thank you, my Lady. For telling me this."

Miril sped away down the path back towards the tents. Aragorn had known why her brother had been killed. He had known Miril's ancestry, and the doom that lay upon her. He had known, but hadn't trusted her enough to tell her. Instead he'd faked friendship to watch her every move and make sure she didn't turn into a kinslayer like her forefather.

She felt betrayed.


	33. You Knew

Miril glared at the sleeping Aragorn. How long had he known? Since her birth, presumably. He'd known why her brother had died. But he hasn't told her. She walked over to him and he awoke upon her arrival.

"What's the matter, Miril," he asked in confusion, keeping his voice low to avoid waking the others.

Miril narrowed her eyes. "How dare you. You knew, Aragorn. You knew I was a Feanorian. But you didn't tell me."

Aragorn looked at her in complete and utter surprise. Then his hand went to his face as he rubbed his forehead.

"Come with me," he said softly, getting up and leading her away from the group.

Miril followed despite her anger. She wanted to believe he'd had a good reason to lie to her all these years. Still, she was furious.

Aragorn led her back to the Gardens of Galadriel and in the moonlight they were even more beautiful, if that was possible. He sat her down at last at the swan fountain.

"I assume Galadriel told you," he started. "Perhaps she felt it was time you knew."

"Of course it was time I knew! I'm 39 years of age, Aragorn! I can handle the fact that my ancestor is Caranthir the Dark. I can handle it without turning into some sort of… of kinslayer like you thought I'd become!" She hissed this last part at him with such venom he backed up.

"What?" Aragorn looked at her in confusion. "We never said that."

"You never said anything," she pointed out.

"Miril we kept it a secret to keep the enemy from finding out! Sauron holds much hatred for the descendants of Fëanor, ever since the days of the Silmarils when he was but the first Dark Lord's lieutenant."

Miril glared, "Great job you did too. That's why Eldir was killed, isn't it?"

Pain flashed across Aragorn's face. "Do not blame me for the death of your brother. He was a loyal friend of mine as well. We all mourned his loss."

She turned away and refused to let Aragorn see the sadness and pain in her eyes at the memory of her brother's loss. It was still fresh in her mind. The image of that day, burned into her soul.

"Tell me one thing," she sniffed, her back to Aragorn. "Did Eldir know?"

Aragorn sighed. "Indeed he did."

"Yet you could not tell me?"

Aragorn huffed in exasperation, "It was he who swore us to never reveal it to you!"

* * *

_Aragorn and Halbarad had just revealed to Eldir the biggest secret of his life, but he took it remarkably well. Eldir sat, staring at them in surprise, but didn't get angry or object to it. He just… stared._

_"Any questions?" Aragorn asked him at last._

_Eldir shook his head. "Only a request."_

_Halbarad jumped in. "Name it."_

_"Never tell my sister. If what you say is true, that would explain why I see Caranthir in her mannerisms. At least, from how that elven Lord was taught to me. She will not take this as well as I."_

_"I fear he speaks truly, Aragorn," Halbarad agreed. "She is rash and impatient, swift to anger."_

_"It is agreed then." Aragorn nodded. "This knowledge goes not beyond this tent."_

_"Agreed."_

* * *

"What?" Miril turned around in confusion. "Why would he have said that?"

"He wanted to protect you, Miril, as Halbarad and I and the house of Elrond have tried to do."

Miril took a step back, "The… The Twins? They knew?"

The raw pain and hurt on her face made Aragorn realize his mistake. He hadn't meant to mention them, even though he'd assumed she'd figured out they had known already.

"Miril, I'm sorry," he murmured, moving to place a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off.

"They knew?" Her voice cracked in the utter betrayal of it. "This whole time. They knew?"

Aragorn sighed and nodded. "Yes. But we insisted they not reveal it to you. I know how close you've become to them. Don't let this get in the way of what you built."

A single tear dripped down Miril's cheek. Her eyes were wet from other, unshed tears. She allowed Aragorn to embrace her in a hug as she let it sink in that her two greatest friends had kept the reason for her brother's death and her very nature from her. At the behest of her own brother.

"Did none of you trust me?" She sobbed. "No one? Not even my brother!"

"It wasn't a matter of trust, Miril. It was a matter of protecting you."

"I don't need protecting," she shook her head, breaking away from the embrace. "I can protect myself."

"Indeed," Aragorn agreed with her wholeheartedly. "Perhaps that is why the Lady Galadriel decided to reveal this to you now."

"Indeed, child," Galadriel said as she walked up to them. "You are a strong one. I would not have revealed that knowledge to you had I thought it unimportant."

Miril looked at her in confusion before realizing what she meant. "The dream!"

Galadriel nodded. "Come, both of you. There is something you must do."

They could feel the gravity of her statement and both Rangers shut their mouths, falling into step behind the Lady of the Galadhrim. They found themselves carefully led deep into the Gardens down paths they hadn't trod before. The moonlight lit their way beneath the trees and Galadriel was their sole focus.

Until they saw it. Below them in a small hollow was a singular object. Something like a bowl on a pedestal but all made of stone, it seemed ominous there, all alone in the moon and starlight. Galadriel led them down to it and picked up a pitcher to add more water to the bowl.

"This is the Mirror of Galadriel," she said. "It tells many things. And perhaps will reveal to you what your dream holds in store."

She poured the water into the bowl and motioned for Miril to step up to it. Miril did so, and Aragorn stood to the side to watch with anticipation. He wished he understood what Galadriel meant about a dream. He supposed that was what Miril had gone to talk to her about. But he had no idea.

Miril stepped up to where she could look into the water. At first all she could see were the stars above reflected in the water. But then she looked harder and things began to change.


	34. In the Mirror

She looked intently at the water in the basin. The stars faded and in their place was an odd image.

_An elf slaved over a workshop table, looking intently at a set of blueprints. His dark hair was messily pulled behind his head and he had a writing utensil in his hand. The designs were of three gems, each about as large as the man's palm. He scowled in frustration, throwing the pencil down on the desk._

The next image was entirely different.

_An elf maid with fiery red hair sat in a large chair, seven children around her listening intently as she read them a story. Some were older, some young. The two youngest and the eldest shared her red hair, another had rare fair hair, and the others dark._

_The elf from the first image walked into the scene. He was grinning from ear to ear as he held something behind his back. The youngest children ran to him and he patted their heads. He quivered in pride as he drew out the three most beautiful gems he'd ever created and anyone had ever seen._

Miril was surprised as a new image filled the screen.

_Two beautiful and gigantic trees sat atop a green hill and light emanated from them. A younger Galadriel and other elves walked on the greener without second thought. But then the image changed and the trees were dead. The elves were mourning._

_The image focused back on the three jewels._

_Eight male elves drew their swords and screamed into the sky. The oath had been pronounced. Their doom was sealed._

Then the bloodshed began.

_Beautiful Swan Ships filled the harbor but most were either burning or sailing away. On the docks, workmen and sailors were being slaughtered by elves with swords and armor unlike anything that had been seen in that place before. The sea ran red with blood as the crashing waves angrily licked at the boats._

A very different scene came next.

_An elf with long, shining dark hair sat atop a black horse and was speaking to a woman of the race of Men who stood below him. He took her hand, dismounting, and showed her to a tent where they drank wine and spoke. But evidently they did more than that as the next scene was the woman with child._

The scene abruptly changed, and Miril watched in horror as elven men and women were killed mercilessly beside the sea in the next image.

_In another act of murderous rage, a peaceful settlement of elves on the ocean was overrun by other elves of more evil countenance. They swept through the peaceful settlers like a hot knife through butter. An elf maiden with a bright gem on her chest leapt into the waves, but was borne up like a swan and flew off into the night._

A major battle of elves and bright beings was next.

_A standard bearer of bright countenance and shining golden hair commanded elven troops and Maiar as well. They defeated the Black Foe and his minions, recovering what Miril realized by now were the remaining two Silmarils._

_However the scene moved to one where an elf with red hair and an elf with dark hair swept into the camp and stole the Silmarils. The gems burned their hands and one leapt into a gaping, fiery chasm while the other threw the Silmaril into the Sea._

_The elf near the Sea wandered around for miles into the mountains, eventually setting up a small cabin in the woods and living there, away from prying eyes, his right hand burned beyond use from the Silmaril._

The final scene was familiar to her, though different in some ways.

_A bright ship shaped as a swan was sitting in a harbor. She saw a gem, presumably the remaining Silmaril, sitting in the sand. A shadow passed in front and reached down the pick up the Silmaril when suddenly the sun was covered and turned black. The Sea had a ghastly blood red hew and something began chanting in an ancient language. Two blue wizards appeared out of nowhere._

Just as Miril was about to pull away, the water in the Mirror turned to blood. The smell was unmistakable and the way it moved was slow like blood, too. The air tasted like metal.

Miril stepped away and saw that her hands were now covered in blood. She screamed.

Aragorn rushed over to her and grabbed her hands. He saw nothing.

"Shh," he tried to calm her down. "Relax, Mir. It's alright."

"There was so much death," Miril whispered in horror.

Galadriel nodded. "You saw the history of the Silmarils, did you not? I felt it."

Miril looked at the the elven Lady. "My forefather was a part of that. How can I live with that fact? Live, knowing that that kinslayer's blood runs through my veins as well?!"

"You are not Caranthir. You are Miril. You also have the blood of Haleth, who was a great leader of a great house of the Edain. Never forget that," Galadriel stressed.

"My lady," Miril asked after a moment of silence, "who was that elf by the Sea? The one who was burned by the Silmaril? The one who went to live in the mountains?"

Galadriel looked at her in surprise after her last statement. "I can only assume you mean Maglor, second son of Fëanor. You say he went to live in the mountains?"

"Indeed. That at least is what the Mirror showed," she said.

"No one ever knew what happened to my cousin. We assumed he had perished along with Maedhros." She mused to herself. "This is strange news indeed that the Mirror has shared."

"Why did it share this with me instead of you, Lady Galadriel?" Miril asked.

Galadriel smiled. "It chose you because you are intrinsically linked with the Fëanorian bloodline whether you wish it or no."

Miril looked decidedly unhappy but didn't protest. She supposed what Galadriel said was true. Whether she wanted it to be true or not, she was a member of that family and she needed to know that. She was glad she knew that.

Aragorn spoke up. "What have we learned from this, my Lady?"

"We have learned something grave, yet important."

"What is that?" Miril asked.

Galadriel sighed and looked at them solemnly. "The Silmaril is coming back."


	35. The Next Step

Miril realized at that moment that there were bigger things to worry about than who had known her lineage. She stared at Galadriel in shock at that news that had just been shared.

"How can a Silmaril return?" Miril asked, quivering.

Galadriel took a deep breath and released it. "Seas and lands shift. It is possible that with the sinking of Numenor, the land beneath the waves was moved to where the jewel could someday be recoverable."

"That's one reason Gandalf protested to ridding the world of the Ring by throwing it in the Sea. It would never be truly gone." Aragorn nodded. "I suppose the Silmaril was like this as well."

Miril walked a few paces away and leaned on a natural wall of rock and earth. She sighed audibly and shook her head before turning back to face the other two.

"What must I do, my Lady? There was a voice that spoke in Quenya, and only now after thinking it over do I believe I've figured out what it said."

Galadriel nodded for her to continue.

"When at once the servant of the Black Foe is gone, three must set forth. Find the oath breaker and retrieve the jewel at last. Face the darkness that will rise in the South and East with the light of Valinor."

Aragorn and Galadriel both looked thoughtful. Aragorn spoke first. He seemed hesitant but decided it best to say what was on his mind.

"The Oath breaker… Maglor perhaps?" Aragorn turned to Galadriel. "Could he still be alive, my Lady?"

"It is possible, I suppose. He is not too much older than I," Galadriel nodded. "In the end it is true he broke his oath by getting rid of the Silmaril, by letting it go."

Miril looked disgusted. "I want nothing to do with a kinslayer."

Galadriel flashed a tiny smile. "They weren't always kinslayers, Miril. Maglor was a good friend of mine in Valinor. He had such a beautiful voice."

"But he killed kinsmen!"

Galadriel's face hardened. "What he and his brothers did was reprehensible. Do not think I believe otherwise. Many of my companions and friends were killed in their raids. But it is possible he has had time to lament and repent of his actions."

Miril supposed she spoke truly. Over two ages had passed since Maglor had last engaged in an act of kinslaying.

"However the more immediate threat is most certainly the Ring," Galadriel said firmly. "We will continue to gather information about the Silmaril's reemergence, but until then, you must aid the Ring-bearer's quest."

Aragorn and Miril both heartily agreed. The Ring came first. Sauron had to be destroyed. Then Miril could go off in search of her destiny as a Fëanorian.

"You shall rest here in Lothlorien for some time," Galadriel told them as they left the Mirror behind and walked back through the Gardens. "You will know when the time is right to leave."

Miril and Aragorn bowed to Galadriel in farewell. The sun would be rising soon and they desired to catch a couple hours more of sleep.

"Thank you, my Lady," Miril told her. "Your help has been invaluable."

Galadriel smiled. "I only wish that what we found was not so dark and steeped in danger and mystery."

Aragorn and Miril left Galadriel's presence and retreated to the tents on the green. The sun was beginning to shine through the trees very subtly. The whole fellowship, minus Legolas, was still asleep. Aragorn turned to Miril.

"Miril you must know that you are like family to me." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I did what I thought was best for you. Not because I do not trust you. But because I do not trust this world."

Miril sighed sadly. "I know, Aragorn. I know."

Aragorn smiled at her softly before turning away to lie down.

"Aragorn," she interjected.

He turned back to her, a questioning look his face. What did she need?

Miril shuffled her feet. "Do you think Elladan and Elrohir will still trust me despite the knowledge I have gained?"

Aragorn smiled and walked back over.

"Those two will never leave you, Miril. Elladan, he thinks of you like another sister. And Elrohir…" Aragorn wanted to choose his next words carefully. "Elrohir cares very deeply about you. You wouldn't be able to rid yourself of them so easily, no matter what you did."

She smiled softly and nodded back at him. Miril went to lie down on the lounging couch she had claimed for herself. She lay down on the soft cushions and allowed her head to sink into her pillow. Sleep came easily to her that night, a rarity as of recent.

Many days went by in Lothlorien that were filled with relaxation and peace. The hobbits often explored on their own while Miril rested and allowed her arm and back to heal. Aragorn often accompanied Miril on her adventures outside and around Caras Galadhon. Boromir was wary of doing anything with the elves while Gimli spent increasingly more time with Legolas. The two had become good friends.

Miril also found herself deep in the planning of the defense of Lothlorien based on what she had learned near Dol Guldor. Celeborn asked her to relay the information to the leaders of the Galadhrim guard. So she did so, telling them all she could about the type of orcs, their number, and their leaders.

When at last the day was coming for the Fellowship to leave Lothlorien, a major question came up. What would Miril do? Would she join the Fellowship on their journey South, or remain in Lothlorien to help guard against attack?

"Nine there were that set out from Rivendell," Celeborn said as the Fellowship and Miril stood before him and his wife. "Nine for the riders of shadow. Nine there shall be again."

"Miril will join the company of the Ring," Galadriel said. "Elrond and Gandalf were very specific about the number and rightly so. Therefore we appoint you, Miril, to fill the remaining position."

Miril nodded, understanding the gravity of this appointment. While there was no way she could fill the hole left by Gandalf's absence, she would do her best.

What she knew that only Aragorn and the monarchs were also aware of, was that she was meant to accompany Boromir to Gondor to investigate her visions. Any hint as to where Maglor could be found would be useful, and perhaps could be found in Gondor's archives. But until then, she was sworn to help the Ring-bearer.

Much was spoken of, and in the end Celeborn decided that since they knew not their final destination, whether it be West or East, he bestowed upon them three boats.

"Sleep now," he commanded. "In the morning, Haldir shall show you to the River. There we shall say farewell."

"Let not your hearts be troubled," Galadriel said. "Rest tonight, think not of the road ahead."

They all, including Legolas, returned to the tents where they took counsel with one another. However though they talked deep into the night, nothing came of it, and in the end they decided sleep was needed. The march to the River would be tomorrow.


	36. Parting Gifts

_A/N: Thanks as always to everyone who reviewed. Those are the highlight of my day! Especially on days like today when I found out we will need to euthanize my cat soon. Angel, this one goes out to you even though you're a cat._

They marched for several hours until they reached the River. The sun was shining and it was a very pleasant day. They were all now clad in cloaks of the Galadhrim, gifts from the Lady Galadriel and her hand maidens. Once they reached the boats, they were stopped by Galadriel and Celeborn.

"Come and eat with us one last time," Celeborn entreated.

And so they ate and drank and were merry beneath the Mellyrn trees. Galadriel and Celeborn drank the Cup of farewell and offered it to the company. Taking it, they drank a final drink.

"Before you leave, gifts I will bestow upon you, such as we can offer," Galadriel smiled.

To Merry and Pippin, she gave daggers of the Noldor. To Boromir, a belt of gold. To Sam, a box of soil from her gardens. To Legolas, a bow of the Galadhrim. Gimli asked, after Galadriel insisted he tell her, for a strand of hair. She gave him three. Aragorn's gift was the Elessar gemstone. Frodo received the Star of Eärendil.

At last she came to Miril. 

"I do not know what more I can give you, Miril Lominzil. I have nothing but this to give," Galadriel smiled.

The Lady of the Galadhrim was handed a box from her handmaiden that stood behind her. Inside, Galadriel showed Miril a black and silver gem-covered brooch shaped like a fancy star. She drew it out.

"This belongs to Elrohir. He asked we give it to you when I felt the time was right. It is a pledge of his friendship and love to you."

Miril felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I will wear it with pride."

Galadriel smiled and with a nod, pinned it go her chest. Galadriel found it almost funny, but sad also. Both her granddaughter and one of her grandsons had fallen in love with someone who was either cursed or mortal. She had to watch as they walked down paths she could not follow with them. It almost broke her heart.

"And one more thing, Miril," Galadriel said. "Take this sword. It was mine from my younger days. It will serve you better than that short dwarf blade."

"My lady," Miril gasped as she saw the sword and scabbard.

The sword was a pale metal with a mithril hilt inlaid with one onyx stone. The scabbard was black with mithril runes carved into it. Miril gaped at the beauty of it.

"Take it." Galadriel insisted. "Do not worry, I have others. This one was crafted by Fëanor himself in Valinor. This is why I feel it best if you take it. It was meant for you."

"Many thanks, my lady. I can never repay you," Miril shook her head in disbelief.

Galadriel took her hand. "Destroy the forces of evil. Use that sword to right the wrongs Fëanor committed. Show that to Maglor when you find him, and he will know your claims are true."

Miril nodded and stepped back to join the Fellowship. Everyone was ready to leave, but at the same time, none were. No one wanted to leave Lothlorien, but all knew it was time. Aragorn especially was saddened. He knew in his heart that he would not return.

They loaded into their boats. Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam went first. Boromir, Merry and Pippin were in the middle. In the last boat went Legolas, Gimli, and Miril.

"Namarië!" Galadriel called to them in ancient Elvish which meant "farewell."

They said farewell in return and began paddling down the stream. After about an hour, they finally left the woods and joined up with Anduin. The journey South had begun in earnest.

Because of their separate boats, Miril was constrained to conversation with Gimli and Legolas. This was not a bad thing, but she wasn't as close to them as she was even to Merry and Pippin. Nevertheless, she supposed she'd have to make the most of it.

"What did the Lady gift you with, Miril," Legolas asked her from where he sat at the front of the boat.

She smiled. "An heirloom of her Elrohir and a sword of ancient elf make."

"Can I see the sword," Gimli asked. "I'm curious about the craftsmanship."

Miril nodded and passed the sword in its scabbard to Gimli. He drew it out and gasped audibly.

"That is a mithril hilt! No wonder it is so light." Gimli looked at it. "However I would not trade my gift even for a sword made of pure mithril!"

"And what was your gift, my friend?" Legolas asked him.

"Three strands of the Lady Galadriel's silver golden hair. The most beautiful thing I have ever seen." Gimli sighed longingly. "I shall treasure it forever."

They travelled mostly in silence for the rest of the day. Miril and Legolas handled the oars in their boat. It was monotonous work, but somewhat soothing. It gave her time to think about what she would do in Gondor. She would have to hope Boromir gave her his blessing to investigate the Archives. A lot hinged on that.

When darkness fell, Aragorn ordered they go ashore. They pulled the boats up onto the shore and hid the baggage under them. Lying beside the boats was their best bet for cover. So they did so. For though there were still patches of trees along the river, the boats added to the shelter.

"Miril and I shall take first watch," Aragorn told the company. "The rest of you, get some sleep."

The company didn't need to be told twice. They were soon asleep, leaving Miril and Aragorn to keep watch over them.

"I fear the Enemy has not been idle while we rested in Lorien, Aragorn," Miril said solemnly.

He nodded. "Indeed you speak truly. There shall be peril before we reach Rauros and the Tindrock Isle."

They sat in silence for a long while, content with each other's company and busy looking out for threats. At last, Aragorn broke the silence.

"I saw the sword," he said. "But what else did the Lady Galadriel give to you?"

Miril pulled back her cloak and showed Aragorn the brooch of Elrohir. He smiled, knowing instantly what it was. He almost laughed at how Elrohir was hinting his love for Miril so subtly that Aragorn figured neither even realized it.

"A fitting gift," Aragorn voiced his approval.

"I thought so."

They went back to their silent vigil, quietly watching for anything out of the ordinary. Only once did either notice anything. Two pale, lamp like eyes seemed to float on the water, but as soon as Aragorn pointed to them, they disappeared. They paid closer attention after that. But nothing appeared.


	37. Treachery of the River

Several days into the voyage saw the land change. Miril had never been this far East of the Mountains, but she had heard the stories of the Brown Lands that lay East of the Anduin from elves in Lorien. No one quite knew how the Enemy managed to so completely destroy the area now called the Brown Lands. For no stump, no log, no rock was left. Just brown, lifeless ground was there. It was depressing to the company to look that way.

On the Western bank were reeds and grasses so high, no one could see over them. But Miril knew that beyond them lay the land of the Riddermark, the land of the Rohirrim. She could barely tell that Aragorn was explaining something up in the first boat to Frodo and Sam. As for herself, she was content to paddle along in time with Legolas.

The fourth night they pulled their boats onto a section of the West bank where the reeds halted and were replaced by solid ground and green grass. Aragorn and Miril took second watch after Boromir and Legolas. The moon was high in the sky, beginning to sink down again, when they took up their posts. They were silent most of the time, speaking only in short conversations.

"I'm sure it is him, Aragorn. He has been tracking us since we left Lothlorien," Miril growled angrily.

Aragorn nodded, watching the swift moving water carefully. "I know. Gollum is tricky. He has eluded my attempts at catching him."

They went back to the intense silence, listening only to the coursing water and sounds of the birds and bugs. Miril traced the metal outline of Elrohir's brooch as it was pinned to her chest. She was going over in her head all her interactions with him as of late. For she was beginning to realize something.

Did she love him? Did _he_ love _her_?

She enjoyed his company to anyone else's. Even Elladan's did not bring her the same intense feelings she got when Elrohir was around. Elladan was more of a big brother. But Elrohir… with Elrohir it was different. She couldn't even describe it. She hadn't realized it until now.

She'd had plenty of time to decode the hidden meaning behind the brooch these past few days. At first, she'd thought it was merely a sweet gesture. Now, she wasn't so sure. In fact, she was nearly convinced it had been his small way of expressing his love to her.

And that frightened her. She was terrified at the prospect of falling in love. She was a ranger, a hunter, a warrior. She had no time for love. But… she wanted love.

"Aragorn," she said softly near the end of their shift as the sun was peeking over the horizon.

"Yes?" He prompted.

She fingered the brooch. "Do you think he loves me?"

Aragorn smiled, not looking at her. Instead he looked out over the river, past their sleeping companions.

"Definitely."

"Oh."

Miril smiled a tiny smile. At least she had her answer. And she decided she was glad. Because yes, she did love him.

She was sad for one reason, and one reason only. She wasn't sure she'd ever see him again to let him know.

They roused the company shortly thereafter. Getting back in the boats was frustrating, but they all knew it was necessary, and certainly better, and faster, than walking down the Anduin.

That day of travel was the last time they traveled by sunlight. Apparently Sam had spotted Gollum yet again, and as they grew ever more south, Aragorn decided it would be best to travel by night and twilight. So they switched tactics. They paddled for longer periods of time, endeavoring to perhaps lose Gollum in the water.

The days passed largely without incident until they became aware of a change of scenery yet again. Now, instead of the brown lands and large reeds, they came upon rocky cliffs. They were approaching the Emyn Muil.

"Legolas," Aragorn said one evening as they began to prepare for their nightly voyage. "Is that what I think it is? Far off in the distance?"

Everyone looked to where he pointed. Miril, too, could make out a distinctly avian form. But it took Legolas' elf eyes to confirm it.

"Indeed!" Legolas nodded. "It is a great eagle of the Mountains. It seems to be searching for something. See how it circles?"

"I wonder what it is doing so far from its hunting grounds?" Aragorn looked lost in thought. "We shall not venture out until it is completely dark."

They waited another two hours before embarking on the seventh night of travel. Miril pushed the boat out and hopped into the back, careful not to rock it. After all, their boat had most of the supplies.

"Gimli," she asked as they paddled along several hours later. "What is it like, under the Mountain? I have been many places, but never to Erebor."

Gimli immediately perked up instantly. "It is beautiful, Miril. Beautiful! The gems and the caverns and the torch light!"

"I hope to see it someday," she smiled.

"When all this mess is over you would be welcome in my home," Gimli nodded. "King Dain would be a wonderful host, I assure you. And you could visit Dale! Dale is a magnificent city of Men."

Miril laughed gently. "I look forward to it."

The next night, night number eight, was to be a fateful one. Aragorn, reckoning the rapids were still at least a day's journey away, decided to risk one more night. But as it turned out, the rapids were closer than he thought.

The boats tossed and heaved on the rapids. They were being pulled towards the Eastern bank when something even more sinister happened.

" _Yrch_!" Legolas cried as arrows began falling among them. " _Yrch_!"

"Elbereth preserve us," Miril sighed, paddling as hard as she could against the current and away from the Eastern bank.

Aragorn was shouting orders but she wasn't focus on that. She was simply focused on her paddle. In, out, in, out. Slowly the boats turned. As of yet, no arrow had struck its mark. Either they were extremely lucky, or the cloaks of Lorien were doing wondrous things. At last they reached the bank when suddenly a chill swept over the company.

A great, winged shape blotted out the moon. It flew overhead. Miril felt the scar on her face from the Nazgul's blade begin to hurt and then feel cold and numb.

Legolas stood up and hopped into the western bank. He drew out the bow of Lothlorien and fitted and arrow on the string.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel," he sighed.

Releasing the arrow, it sped into the night and hit the shadow. It plummeted to the ground on the Eastern bank and the orcs cheers were silenced and turned to remorseful moans and cries.

The company all pulled their boats onto the shore and into the bushes. Miril nodded to Legolas.

"Well done," she said.

Gimli, too, praised the elf. "Praised be the bow of Galadriel, and the arm and hand of Legolas. That was a mighty shot, my friend."

"But who can say what it hit?" Legolas shrugged.

"I cannot," Gimli shook his head.

Miril echoed his thoughts. "Nor I."

"It reminded me of.. Of the balrog," Gimli said softly.

"It was not a balrog." Frodo spoke up, "I think it was… no. I will not say what I think."

Boromir pressed him for answers but when it was clear nothing would come of it, they eventually left it alone. Aragorn ordered they rest for the remained of the night. Legolas and Gimli took first watch.


	38. Stories

"Legolas and I shall scout ahead. We must find the portage-way I know of. Let us hope it still is serviceable." Aragorn spoke to the company the next morning. "If we do not return by tomorrow, then you must elect a new leader and chart your own course."

Miril watched as Aragorn and Legolas trotted off into the distance, over rocky shoals and vine-covered outcrops. Soon they had disappeared from view. Aragorn had explained to the Fellowship that morning that they had to find a way to carry the boats past the rapids. None had even survived the rapids of Sarn Gebir, and despite the sturdiness of the elven boats, they didn't wish to press their luck.

Miril stood with her back against a tree trunk, looking out over the water. She was fingering the mithril hilt of her sword, lost in thought. She found herself agreeing with Boromir's assertion that any going to Gondor should leave as soon as they could, but she was not going to abandon the Ring-bearer until she had Aragorn's blessing. She also desired to see the Gates of Argonath.

Suddenly she felt someone tug on her cloak. She looked over and down and found Merry and Pippin standing before her.

"We said your name but you didn't answer," Pippin explained.

Miril smiled. "Sorry. What do you need?"

"We're bored!" Pippin blurted out. "We were wondering if you could tell us a story. Something to pass the time."

Miril sighed but nodded. "Sure. Perhaps that's what we all need right now.

She left her unofficial post by the tree and went to sit on the ground by the Company. She looked at Frodo and Sam, both of whom were looking doubtfully between the river and the way Aragorn and Legolas had gone. She looked at Gimli who seemed as lost in thought as she had been not long ago. She looked at Boromir, but all she could see was his back as he sat near the bank of the river watching the waves.

"Alright." She smiled. "A story. Hm. What kind of story do you want?"

Merry shrugged. "Anything interesting."

"Why not tell us what you do when you aren't questing with Strider!" Pippin suggested.

Miril gave a small smile. "Okay then. I'll tell you about my expeditions with the Sons of Elrond."

Gimli turned from his thoughts and listened with the hobbits. He was curious about Miril.

"There was this one time when I was a newly named Ranger…"

* * *

" _Come on, Miril. You can help us on our hunt in the Ettenmoors," Elrohir suggested through her bedroom door._

_Miril, at the young age of 26, hadn't been going on Dunedain missions for long at all, a few months tops. The sons of Elrond were eager to get her used to the fight and insisted on taking her on one of their escapades into troll and orc country._

" _Okay, give me a second!" she called from where she was changing into her tunic and pants for the hunt._

_Elrohir smiled and stood back from the door. Elladan was busy getting his sword sharpened. They were to leave soon, though. Finally Miril left her room and grabbed her sword on her way. She strapped it onto her belt as she and Elrohir walked to join Elladan._

" _Ah so you are coming," Elladan nodded with a smile. "Good. We could use your tracking skills."_

" _Please," she crossed her arms skeptically. "You two would do fine without me there."_

" _Maybe," Elladan smirked. "Maybe not."_

_Elrohir laughed. "Let us go."_

_The Twins and Miril left Rivendell on foot. They didn't want to risk bringing horses into the Trollshaws and Ettenmoors. Besides, it was no more than a day's travel from Rivendell to where the orcs had been sighted. Also, the fact that Miril lacked a horse made matters like that more complicated._

_They traveled all day taking only short breaks for food and water. Miril was examining a track in the earth and some broken twigs in the twilight when they heard it._

" _I don't know, Garm. I think orc tastes good!"_

" _You're stupid, Tim! Everyone knows orc is the worst."_

_Elrohir, Elladan, and Miril all froze instantly. It was trolls. Miril had never fought a troll. In fact, the only troll she'd ever seen was already stone._

" _It's less mushy than human flesh, Garm. It's tougher. I like tough meat."_

_Miril turned slowly to Elladan and Elrohir. "We should leave."_

_They were about to agree when suddenly Miril, in her haste to stand up, accidently broke a twig with her foot. The trolls immediately stopped talking and looked over at them._

_The three hunters could just make them out in the gloom of the now-fully fallen night._

" _It's a she-elf! Get her!" One of them cried, pointing at Miril._

" _I like she-elf meat, Garm." The one called Tim said loudly as he grabbed his club and wandered over to Miril and the still hidden twins._

_Miril drew her sword in defiance and was going to turn towards the Twins when she realized they were no longer there._

" _Great."_

_She knew they must be around somewhere. They probably had a plan._ They better have a plan. _As the troll named Tim went to grab her, Miril stabbed upwards with her sword and sliced down the troll's palm. It howled in pain and greenish grey blood oozed from its wound. Garm, the other troll, scowled and stomped forward to help his friend._

_She supposed they were fortunate that these were hill trolls and not cave trolls. Cave troll hide was so thick that ordinary swords could not pierce it. Hill trolls, on the other hand, had hide more like orcs. Thick, but not impervious to weapons._

" _The little she-elf cut me!"_

_Miril grinned but soon that fell from her face as the two trolls faced her together. One swung his club so hard and fast that she barely had time to dodge it. The other one went to smash her with his foot when suddenly two arrows each imbedded themselves in either troll's neck. Miril, seizing the opportunity, rolled out from under Tim and slammed her sword into his chest. One down, one more to go. But she was too slow._

_Garm grabbed her on his hand and brought her up to his face. Blood was beginning to seep out of his mouth from where the arrow wounds that continued to pepper him began to take their toll._

_Miril felt like she was being squeezed to death. She shouted for the Twins to hurry up and as the last word left her mouth, she heard a sword slice through hide. Garm fell backwards onto the ground, his grip on her loosening._

_She rolled out of his hand and onto the ground, panting. Miril felt dizzy. She lay on her back trying to regain her breath. Elrohir rushed over to her and looked down, kneeling beside her. Elladan was busy wrenching his sword from the troll's somach._

" _Are you alright?" Elrohir asked in concern, helping her sit up._

_She sighed, looking at her black and blue arms. "Just very bruised."_

_Elladan came over. "We should get you back to Rivendell. Enough action for one trip."_

_They all agreed with that._

* * *

"Were you alright," Merry asked quickly.

Miril smiled. "Yes. Mostly just bruised, both my body and my ego. I had been so sure I was ready to handle the wilds. Little did I realize just how much left I had to learn. And still do."

Frodo looked at her curiously. "You have been a ranger how long?"

"Nearly eighteen years now." Miril shook her head. "Time has flown by, that is for sure. But I have learned much about the trials of the wild."

"The wilds are a dangerous place." Aragorn nodded as he and Legolas reemerged from the rocks and trees. "But if you learn to use the wild, it can become an ally."

"You found the path, then?" Boromir asked, coming over.

"Indeed. But it will take the strength of us men to carry the boats over the obstacles to get to the path." Aragorn sighed. "Come. We should start now."

The Company emptied the supplies out of the boats. Boromir and Aragorn lifted one of the surprising light boats up into the air while Legolas stayed behind to guard the remainder of the supplies that weren't going to be carried by the rest of the company. Gimli and Sam took the bulk of the weight. They did end up making two trips, as on the last one Legolas and Miril took the second of the last two boats alongside Boromir and Aragorn.

When at last late that night they reached the river past the rapids of Sarn Gebir, the company rested. Aragorn and Boromir took first watch as the others slept, followed by Legolas and Miril. The next morning, they needed to be rested. It would be day number ten, the last of their journey down the Anduin.


	39. The Tenth Day

"Come on, time to get up. The rain will let up soon, I hope." Miril roused the company as she was last on watch, Legolas following suit.

Pippin groaned and complained under his breath as he was woken up, the wetness on his face proof of the light drizzle that was currently falling from the clouds. Merry was no happier, but he merely frowned and followed Frodo and Sam in rising.

Frodo and Sam did so without complaint, eager to get moving after the long rest that night. In fact, most of the Company was extremely eager to move on down towards Tol Brandir, forgetting for the moment the choice that lay before them.

Aragorn stood tall, looking down the path ahead of them. He couldn't see far, but he wasn't really paying attention to what lay before his eyes. Aragorn was instead thinking long and hard about the Argonath and the statues of Numenor that would be before them soon.

Miril walked over to him. "Everyone's up and Gimli is fixing breakfast with Merry and Sam."

"Good." He nodded, and then continued with a sigh. "Soon we shall have to make a choice, my friend."

"I intend to go to Minas Tirith, as you know. However, if you need me to accompany the Ring-bearer, just say the word." She placed a hand on his arm to draw his attention to her.

Aragorn turned to face her and gave a sad smile. "I know. That much, I know. But your road lies to the White Tower. It is mine I am not so sure of."

"I have faith that your road will be made clear to you," Miril smiled. "Do not fret, my friend."

He nodded and turned away, looking down the river once more. "I hope you are right."

"I'll get you some breakfast," she offered, turning away and heading over to where Gimli and the two youngest hobbits were finishing up frying some fish that had been caught.

She stooped down and grabbed some on a plate for Aragorn. Filling a water skin as well from now-cooled boiled water, she headed back over to her friend and hopefully future king. She always had to remind herself of this. Aragorn, a man who, for all intents and purposes was basically her uncle, was destined to someday be king of the reunited kingdom. Or that was the hope. And she trusted in hope in most circumstances.

"Here." She handed him the plate and water skin. "I even added a little bit of lembas for extra goodness."

Aragorn smiled and took them from her. "Thank you. Now, you go eat too. Tell the others we leave in an hour at the latest. Earlier if we can manage it."

Miril went back to the food and ate her portion. When she was finished, she handed her plate to Merry for washing in the river while she helped pack up the boats. Once everything was ready, Aragorn ordered them into the boats and out onto the water.

Many hours passed of no consequence when suddenly great cliffs rose up beside them, hemming the water and the boats in between them. They were so tall, Miril could barely glimpse the tops. And then, the statues of such immense size that she nearly fell out of her boag loomed before them.

"The Gates of Argonath," she breathed in awe. "I have often wanted to bear witness to them. Never did I dream I would."

"Impressive stonework," Gimli agreed. "The size alone would make the work quite challenging."

Legolas nodded. "If only this were under happier circumstances!"

Miril agreed with that and returned her focus to her paddling. It was dark in the passage between the cliffs, but up ahead she could see light. Soon, they broke free of the cliffs quite suddenly and found themselves paddling into a large lake, Nen Hithoel. In the middle was an island called Tol Brandir, and to either side of the lake were two hills called Amon Hen and Amon Lhaw.

Aragorn had them direct their boats to the right hand bank across from the island of Tol Brandir. By now it was growing dark and the first few stars were peeping out from behind the clouds. They pulled their boats onto the green lawn of the right bank and retrieved their supplies.

"Here we shall rest the night," Aragorn told them. "This is Parth Galen, and on the hill behind us is Amon Hen, the Hill of Sight. We shall set a watch."

Frodo was on watch for the first half of the night, but Aragorn found himself unable to sleep. As he woke, he turned to Frodo and told him to draw his sword. As he feared, the blade was glowing faintly blue.

"Orcs!" Frodo said in surprise.

"It is as I feared. Though perhaps they are merely on the other bank, roaming Amon Lhaw. I have never heard of them on Amon Hen." He shook his head. "Nevertheless, I shall post a second guard tonight."

He walked over to Miril and crouch next to her. Placing a hand on her arm, he gently nudged her. She shot up quickly.

"What's the matter, Aragorn?" She asked quickly.

He shook his head. "Nothing immediate. However I fear orcs may be close. I want you to stand guard with Frodo for now. Wake me in a few hours if I'm not already up."

And so the night of the tenth day of the Fellowship's journey from Lothlorien went by without incident despite the looming danger. Miril caught neither sight nor sound of the Enemy, or Gollum, and woke Aragorn upon the appointed hour. His shift went by equally without event, and the morning soon dawned bright and cheery. But it was not to stay that way.


	40. Tragedy of Rauros

The morning dawned clear, and soon the company was roused by Aragorn who had remained on watch after Miril woke him. He looked troubled, and she understood why. Today was the day; the Fellowship had to make a decision about where to travel and there was no more postponing it. Miril knew she would accompany Boromir to Gondor, so she didn't feel as worried as her mentor must've been feeling.

"Today we must decide what we are going to do," he said, getting right to the point. "Either we go to Gondor and Minas Tirith, or down into the Emyn Muil. Or do we split, and each go his own way?"

"I for one plan to go to Minas Tirith," Boromir insisted. "But this you know already."

There was long silence. Everyone thought about their own path and which they would choose, but none spoke. At last, Aragorn interrupted the cold silence.

"I fear the burden falls to you, Frodo," he said with a sigh and a look of pity.

Miril looked at the hobbit closely. Which would Frodo choose? She could not imagine what it was like being the Ring-bearer. Often she had thought of it, longed to touch the Ring. After all, surely with that much power someone who was good could mend the hurts of the world? But then she would remind herself that this was what the Enemy wanted. He wanted to find the Ring and corrupt its user or pursuer. No one could use it for good. The Ring was evil by its very nature, just as the Silmarils were good.

Frodo finally spoke, "I cannot choose."

"You must." Aragorn shook his head. "For you are the bearer."

Frodo sighed. "Very well. Give me one hour alone to think, and then you shall have your answer."

Aragorn nodded. "You shall have it. Do not stray too far or out of earshot, for I fear orcs may even be on this side of the Anduin."

Frodo nodded and wandered out of sight into the trees. Miril, lost in thought, also stood and walked away, though she moved towards the water instead, sitting on a large boulder that stuck out into the water. She unpinned her new star-shaped brooch and held it in her hand absentmindedly. The others went about their business, some digging through their packs, others sitting and thinking. Sam sat muttering something to himself that no one else quite caught.

Aragorn came over to Miril about half an hour later. He looked tired, but less out of fatigue and more from stress. He leaned against the boulder that she sat on and looked out over the river onto Tol Brandir just like his other Ranger companion.

"I have a sinking feeling in my heart, Miril." He sighed and shook his head. "Gandalf should've been here. He would've known what to do."

"Gandalf put you in charge when he died," Miril reminded him. "He had faith in you."

Aragorn nodded. "I know. You see my heart yearns to go to the Tower of Guard, but I cannot abandon the Ring-bearer despite my yearnings."

Unbeknownst to the Company, Boromir was now missing. Legolas and Gimli walked over to Miril and Aragorn.

"Why should we not help Frodo make his decision? Ease his burden and vote, perhaps," Legolas suggested.

Gimli agreed. "I would vote for Minas Tirith, but if Frodo wishes to go to Mount Doom, I would follow him."

"Indeed." Legolas nodded. "Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens."

"Frodo must make the choice himself," Aragorn argued. "He is the bearer. This is his quest."

Miril turned to where Boromir had been standing. "What do you think Bor- wait, where is he?"

"Boromir?" Aragorn looked around but saw him not.

Suddenly he returned out of the trees. "I went to find more firewood."

Boromir dropped some sticks down by the fire and nodded to them. Aragorn looked at him suspiciously but nodded.

"Did you see Frodo?" She asked him.

Boromir hesitated. "Yes, and no. I urged him to choose Minas Tirith. He grew angry with me and disappeared. Put the Ring on. I searched for him but could not find him."

"How long ago," Aragorn snapped quickly, worried now knowing that Frodo had used the Ring.

"Half an hour, maybe an hour? I don't know," Boromir sighed.

Instantly the camp was in an uproar. Merry and Pippin rushed out into the forest calling Frodo's name. Legolas and Gimli ran in another direction. Aragorn turned immediately to Boromir.

"Follow Merry and Pippin! Go!"

The Gondorian nodded without complaint and raced off to find the youngest hobbits. Aragorn then turned to Miril.

"Search the other end of Amon Hen. Find Frodo," he ordered quickly. Then, turning to Sam he spoke again. "Sam, follow me."

Aragorn tore off followed by Sam. Miril, grabbing her sword, raced away into the trees, eager to find the missing Ring-bearer. If he'd put on the blasted ring, that meant he'd likely be detected by servants of the Enemy like Nazgul, if they were anywhere nearby. Unlikely, but possible.

As she ran through the trees and underbrush, she felt a sting as a branch whipped across her cheek, giving her a small cut. She growled in annoyance but kept moving, constantly calling Frodo's name.

That's when she ran into a group of orcs. It was a small company, no more than ten, but some were larger than the other types of orcs she was accustomed to. Some were goblins of the Misty Mountains, others from Moria. There were some that bore the sign of the Red Eye of Mordor. But the big ones, they had on their shields a small white hand. Miril had never encountered this insignia before.

Without even thinking, she plunged her mithril-hilted sword deep into the first orc's chest. Leaping backwards with a duck, she managed to dodge a hefty swing from a large orc before she cut his sword arm off and kicked him backwards. She heard a bow being pulled back just in time, using another orc's body as a shield to block the incoming arrow. Three dead, six to go.

A small Moria orc had crept up behind her but she heard his little footsteps in time to stab backwards and slice through his neck. Orc blood sprayed everywhere, staining her hands. Removing her sword she dodged to the right and swung as hard as she could, decapitating the other Moria goblin.

Four orcs remained, including the former archer. As he backed up to try and release a second arrow, Miril reached to her belt and pulled out a throwing knife. She pelted it at the orc and it hit him right between the eyes. Three left.

They were rather large ones, and two had the white hand on their helms. Too well armored to go for chest blows, she realized she'd have to focus on the joints in between armor pieces. At that moment, one ran at her and she side stepped, bringing her sword down on top of his sword arm. She knocked the blade and his hand clean off, before kicking him into his companions. This threw them off enough to give her time to slay them.

Miril was panting from exhaustion when she heard it. The horn of Boromir echoed across the the sky and through the air, but no horn returned. She listened to the next blast and took off towards it despite her fatigue.

Blast after blast rang until one was cut short. She shouted that she was coming and she careened down some natural steps in the hill side. But it was several minutes until she reached the place where Boromir was.

When she arrived, she found Aragorn kneeling before a peaceful looking Boromir. Had it not been for several arrows sticking out of his chest, one might of thought he was simply resting against the tree.

Miril marveled at the number of dead orcs that lay around the Boromir. Two dozen at least lay there. She walked forward and cane next to Aragorn. She saw he was weeping.

Legolas and Gimli soon appeared and both realized immediately what had happened, seeing Miril standing with her head bowed and Aragorn kneeling, weeping into Boromir's hand.

"Alas," Legolas said. "We have slain many orcs, but we would've been of more use here, it seems."

"Indeed." Aragorn nodded, standing up. "I was not here either. He died defending the hobbits."

"The hobbits," Miril gasped. "Where are they?"

Aragorn nodded. "He told me the orcs bound them and carried them off. I sent him after Merry and Pippin, but I do not know if Frodo or Sam were there, too!"

"First things first," Legolas insisted. "We must tend to the body of our fallen comrade. Then we shall investigate."

"But we must be quick," Aragorn said. "Orcs can move very fast in large groups. And we need to find the Ring-bearer."

"Let us place Boromir in a boat and give him to the Falls of Rauros," Miril suggested. "Return him to Anduin with the weapons of his vanquished enemies."

And so they agreed. While searching the ground for weapons to place in the boat, Aragorn found Merry and Pippin's elven daggers and sheaths. He decided to keep them to return them to the hobbits if hope did not elude them and he managed to see them again. It took about an hour before they paddled out with Boromir in a boat and sent him down Rauros. Miril stayed on Parth Galen, investigating the tracks in the sand. For it muddled their mystery indeed. But once she made sense of them, it all became clear to her what had happened.


	41. Four Hunters

When at last the three others returned to Parth Galen, Miril was ready and waiting for them. They got out of the boat and jumped out onto dry land.

"What have you found, Miril," Aragorn asked quickly. "Surely the best tracker of my Dunedain has discovered something."

"Indeed, I have." She nodded. "Though your tracking skills rival mine, certainly! Do not deny it, Aragorn."

"What have you found," he asked with a small smile.

"At first I tried to decipher the footprints here," she pointed to a spot near the burned out campfire. "However even I could find nothing because of how many tracks there are. This only I am sure of, no orc has been here. But other signs there are."

"Continue." Aragorn prompted her.

With a nod she pointed to a faint set of footprints near the river edge. "A hobbit waded in and out of the water here. And I believe I know who it was. See, Sam's large pack is missing."

Aragorn nodded. "So what happened here?"

"Frodo, while we were gone, was frightened perhaps by orcs into coming back and continuing on alone. However Sam took a disliking to that and waded out. Frodo took him with him across the lake to the Emyn Muil to continue on to Mordor together."

Legolas cocked his head. "Why? Why leave the Fellowship?"

Aragorn nodded. "Very good Miril. To answer your question, Legolas, I believe Frodo felt he could not lead us to what he believes to be certain death. Therefore he intended to leave alone. Sam evidently changed that part."

"Well this is an evil choice," Gimli grumbled. "Already we have lost precious hours to both parties. Do we follow the orcs, or the bearer?"

"Let me think," Aragorn said.

He stood silently for several minutes before nodding to himself. Miril looked at him expectantly, awaiting orders. Legolas and Gimli looked equally willing to do as the man of the North said.

"At last my path is clear to me. We shall follow the orcs. Frodo has passed beyond our help, but we cannot abandon our other companions to torture and death as we surely would if we pursued Frodo and Sam." Aragorn nodded. "Pack lightly! We must travel night and day to catch the orcs. For they move surprisingly swiftly."

They sprang into action immediately. Condensing what they could of the rations, weapons, and clothing into four packs, the four hunters prepared to set off. They hid the remaining boat and supplies in the undergrowth and set off back to the clearing where the hobbits had been taken.

It didn't take an expert to pick up the trail of the orcs. They trampled everything around them and cared not for living things like trees and flowers. Aragorn took the lead, then Legolas and Gimli. Miril maintained the rear position. They set off brusquely, running some portions and swiftly walking others.

Hours sped by, the small company bounding over rocks and leaving behind the trees of Parth Galen. Soon they were running up hills and mounds, the sun going below the horizon, casting red light across their path. It was an ominous sign.

They did little talking on the first leg of their journey, as they desperately tried to catch up with the orc horde. They ran quickly and tirelessly through dusk and into evening and darkness. The moon shone overhead, casting enough light for the four hunters to follow their trail.

Aragorn ordered a short rest. Legolas walked up to him and posed a question.

"Which way will they head, do you think? Northwards, across Rohan and Fangorn to get to Isengard fastest, or will they follow the Entwash?" He mused.

"Unless much is amiss in Rohan and Saruman's power far greater than we believe, the orcs will make directly for Isengard using the fastest route. They will head north." Aragorn decided this quickly and without much deliberation.

Continuing on, they ran between two ridged hills, a small stream beside them. Stones littered this passageway. Legolas was some ways ahead when he gave a cry. The others sprinted to catch up to him.

"See we have overtaken some of our foes already," Legolas said, pointing to what from far away had seemed like rocks.

Now it was obvious that these were bodies of orcs. Aragorn knelt beside them and surveyed the scene. Miril looked on, checking for whatever details she could see. Five dead orcs lay there, hewn with many strokes and two were beheaded.

"Yet another riddle," Gimli sighed. "Who has done this?"

"Rohirrim, perhaps?" Legolas mused. "No matter how it is read, it seems not unhopeful. An enemy of our enemy is likely to be a friend!'

Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, the Rohirrim do not come this far out."

"Look, Aragorn," Miril said, pointing to a shield that had been cast aside. "All these are northern orcs, none are the massive ones from Isengard."

"Very true," he nodded. "Here, I think, is what happened. The enemy brought his own enemy with him. There was a quarrel over something and, as is not uncommon among orcs, the protesters were slain. Evidently the victors were those from Isengard."

They searched long in the grass and rocks for any sign of the results from the debate. Eventually they found a path heading up away from the stream, and swiftly they followed it. They ran and climbed up the side of the hill until eventually they reached the top. Aragorn stared off into the steadily lightening sky at mountains far in the distance.

"Gondor! Gondor! How I long to tread there," he cried sadly. "But alas, I cannot yet."

"You shall get there, my friend." Miril patted his shoulder.

Legolas shouted suddenly. "Look! There it is again! A great eagle, swift on the wind."

"It must be very far off, indeed, for I cannot see it," Aragorn said. "Miril?"

"Barely, but I can indeed make it out." She nodded as she shaded her eyes.

"And look what else there is," Legolas pointed down onto the plains before them. "A great host moves across the plain!"

Miril looked where the elf pointed and nodded. She couldn't make out what kind of folk they were, so far out was the group. But it seemed to be moving swiftly through the green grasses. She smiled.

"At last, we have found our prey," she said.

They made their way down the side of the hill with new found speed, revitalized at the sight of their target. The orcs were leagues away, but they were there at least. Legolas moved lightly over the grass, a new spring in his step.

"Ah how the smell of the grass here is like a night's rest! I could run for many more hours!" The elf smiled.

Miril grinned as well. Her purpose renewed, she longed to move as fast as her legs would take her. But she knew that soon the company would need rest. They could not continue this pace forever. Eventually they would need sleep.


	42. The Hunt Continues

It wasn't too long before things got a bit more interesting. Aragorn, running in front now, gave a cry and stooped to the ground.

"Stay! Do not follow me yet!" He ran lightly to the side and looked to the ground. "There are hobbit footprints here! Very obvious now!"

He stooped to the ground and picked something up before running back to the three others. He held out his hand and showed them what he'd found.

"The brooch of an elven cloak," Miril gasped.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall,' said Aragorn. 'This did not drop by chance: it was cast away as a token to any that might follow."

Miril, who had stooped low to the ground to examine the prints, stood up and nodded. "Pippin's, I'd guess, based on the foot size. He must've had his wits about him to contrive this plan."

"Come! Let us run! The thought of those merry young folk being driven like cattle burns my heart," Legolas insisted.

Aragorn nodded, pocketing the Lorien brooch for safe keeping. He sped off along the main trail and the others followed him swiftly. The sun climbed high in the sky; it was now one day since Boromir's fall.

Night was falling soon, and the four hunters came to a halt. They'd stopped only twice since the beginning of the day's march and now they had to make a choice.

"An evil choice now lies before us, my friends. Do we pause, rest for the night? Or continue on our way." Aragorn looked troubled. "We must decide soon."

"Let us continue!" Legolas insisted quickly. "We must catch the orcs!"

"Yet we might lose the trail in the night," Gimli argued. "Surely we must consider this."

Aragorn nodded. "This is true, but they seem to be holding a straight course. I should be able to follow it."

"Orcs must rest at some point," Gimli pointed out.

"Most orcs do not face the light of day, yet these do." Legolas sighed. "They certainly will not rest by night."

Miril had wandered away from the group. She stared off into the distance and sighed. Until now she had refused to think about the kind of torture Merry and Pippin were undergoing; it was too painful. But now, it was sinking in. Her friends, those precious little hobbits, were captives of servants of the enemy. Why would the orcs have captured them alive but left Boromir dead unless they had some knowledge of the Ring?

"Miril, what do you think?" Aragorn beckoned her back over. "Do we stay, or continue on?"

Miril looked to where the sky was darkening as the sun disappeared. She wanted with all her heart to continue on, to rescue her friends.

"We should rest."

She chose the hard answer, because she knew the company would need to be at their best to fight an entire company of orcs if they caught up to them. The four hunters would be no help fatigued.

Aragorn sighed and looked away over the plains. He nodded.

"I agree. Let us rest, and begin anew tomorrow," he agreed.

They all immediately lied down upon the springy grass and instantly were asleep. They had run for nearly twenty four hours straight across rough terrain and were exhausted. Miril's dreams were strange that night. Filled with the images of horses and a golden hall, she woke in a daze, utterly confused.

Aragorn was standing next to Legolas and Gimli was just getting up. The sun was barely peeping over the horizon.

"My dreams were filled with the sounds of hooves," Miril said aloud, drawing the attention of the others.

"Indeed?" Aragorn asked in surprise. "As were mine."

He lay down on the ground and listened for any signs of the Enemy. He lay so still for so long that had Miril not known what he was doing, she might've thought he'd fallen asleep.

"The sound of the orcs is indeed far away," he said sadly. "But closer and clearer are the sounds of horses. Hooves on the earth, just as in my dreams."

"What could it mean," Gimli asked.

Aragorn shook his head. "I do not know."

"Let us be off," Legolas insisted. "The orcs have passed beyond even my sight. We must hurry, for they did not halt last night, this I am certain of."

Again the going was all but silent. Even Miril was feeling the effects of a day and a half of hard travel. If it wasn't for her elvish blood and the elvish lembas, she wasn't sure she'd have been able to keep going at the pace being set for more than a few more days. Again, Aragorn amazed her with his prowess and will power. He was such an amazing ranger.

No other attempts to leave the company of orcs were found. Evidently the had increased their vigilance and the hobbits must be incredibly fatigued by now. Miril's heart ached for her little friends. Merry and Pippin, Pippin especially, had a special place in her heart. He was so young and innocent and yet he had an iron will.

The first time she'd ever met a hobbit had been in Breeland, Archet to be exact. Calla Mistyfoot, a young hobbit who lived on Mayweather Creek Farm, had been her first contact with the little folk. Miril had just returned from her time in Rivendell when Halbarad had taken her on one of his patrols.

* * *

_The scream tore through the air like a hot knife through butter. Miril and Halbarad instantly perked up and turned in the direction the scream had come from. Miril tore off at a run and Halbarad followed, both with their swords out. It had sounded like a young girl._

_Another scream came, this one more desperate but they could make out words now._

_"Help! Somebody help!"_

_They broke through a thicket of trees to find three wolves circling a tree. In the tree was a young hobbit girl, no older than in her teens which for a hobbit was quite young. Her short legs dangled precariously close to the wolves' snouts when they jumped towards her._

_Halbarad struck first. He plunged his sword into the first of the wolves, killing it instantly. Miril did the same to the second, and they ended up finishing off the third together. The girl had been stunned silent, staring as these two strangely clad forest people that had saved her life. She smiled shyly._

_"Thank you," she squeaked. "Who are you?"_

_"I'm Miril," she said with a smile, helping the girl down from the tree._

_"Halbarad," said her father. "What's your name?"_

_"Calla. Calla Mistyfoot." Her blonde curls bounced as she stared up at the big people._

_"Where's your house, Calla?" Halbarad asked her, crouching down in front of her. "We need to get you home."_

_"It's just up the creek," she pointed west._

_Miril nodded and took her hand. "Let's get you home."_

* * *

The hours passed and soon the four hunters found themselves in darkness again. Miril wished not for the first nor last time that times were simpler and happier like her time up north with the Rangers and her father. Or when she would hunt the goblins with the Twins. But alas, that was not her lot in life.


	43. The Riders

They ran for another day and night. The fourth day of their hunt came soon enough, and they trotted along the orc path, their hearts heavy. The orcs, holding to their pace, would've reached Fangorn the at least a night before. By now they were likely long gone. Still, the four hunters held to their course.

It was Miril who first noticed the newcomers.

"What is that," she pointed down the orc path. "They are Riders!"

"Indeed. There are one hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and tall their spears," Legolas told them.

Aragorn smiled. "Keen are your eyes, Legolas."

"Nay! They are but five leagues away now," Legolas shook his head.

Gimli sighed. "We cannot out run them. Do we stay here to wait, or continue on our way?"

Aragorn stood thinking. "We shall wait. I am weary from the chase, and we have failed the hunt. Though perhaps the Riders will bring news, for they ride back down the orc path!"

The four hunters stood, exhausted, where they were. The sound of hooves grew louder as the Riders approached until at last all four could make them clearly out.

"What do you know of these horsemen," Legolas asked the two Rangers.

"I have been among them," answered Aragorn. "They are proud and wilful, but they are true-hearted, generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs, after the manner of the children of Men before the Dark Years. But I do not know what has happened here of late, nor in what mind the Rohirrim may now be between the traitor Saruman and the threat of Sauron. They have long been the friends of the people of Gondor, though they are not akin to them. It was in forgotten years long ago that Eorl the Young brought them out of the North, and their kinship is rather with the Bardings of Dale, and with the Beornings of the Wood, among whom may still be seen many men tall and fair, as are the Riders of Rohan. At least they will not love the Orcs."

"But didn't Gandalf say he heard a rumor that they pay tribute to Saruman," Gimli asked.

Miril scoffed. "I'll believe when I see it. I have never met a member of the Rohirrim, but I know the men of the North they are descended from, like the Beornings."

"Indeed," Aragorn nodded. "I believe it no more than did Boromir, or Miril."

Soon enough the riders were on top of them, yet they appeared not to notice the four hunters. They rode by on their powerful steeds, blonde hair flowing in the wind under their helms. In pairs they rode. As soon as the last riders had passed, Aragorn stood and called out to them.

"What news from the North, Riders of Rohan!"

Without even a signal, the horselords turned back and began circling the four tired hunters. They pointed their spears at the hunters, completely surrounding them. A man taller than all the rest came forward, his spear less than a foot from Aragorn's chest.

"Who are you and what are you doing in Rohan," he demanded in speech like to Boromir's.

"I am Strider, a man from the North. We have come hunting orcs," Aragorn revealed.

"How did we not see you," the man demanded. "Are you elvish?"

"One of us only, Legolas of Mirkwood. My female companion, Miril, is half elven," Aragorn said. "But we have passed through the Golden Wood of Lothlorien and were clothed by the Lady of the wood."

The man stared at them intently. "Odd hunters you are, indeed. For there were many orcs and you would've turned to prey as soon as you'd overtaken them. And you say you passed through that haunted place. Few escape the Lady, they say."

"Do not speak evil of the Lady Galadriel!" Gimli barked angrily.

"And what is your name, dwarf?" He asked.

"Give me yours and I shall give you mine, horse-master," Gimli growled.

"I am Éomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark." He sat up straighter in his saddle.

"Well then, Éomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark," Gimli sneered, "I am Gimli, son of Gloin. And I would warn you against foolish words. You speak ill of something far greater than you of small wit can understand."

Éomer sat up and glared at Gimli. "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood a little higher off the ground."

Legolas leapt to his side, bow drawn. "He stands not alone!"

Miril groaned and shook her head. Aragorn jumped between Éomer and the other two hunters. He threw his hands up in the air.

"We mean no harm to the Riders of Rohan nor their steeds. When you have heard our tale, perhaps you will understand why my companions reacted such. You will listen, won't you?"

Éomer shifted in his saddle. "I will. But first, tell me your right name."

"First, I must know. Whom do you serve? Do you serve Sauron, the Foe of the West?" Aragorn asked simply.

"We do not serve him, but not are we at open war against him. If you are fleeing from him, you best leave Rohan at once!" Éomer insisted this. "Whom do _you_ serve?"

"I serve no man," Aragorn said proudly. "Yet I pursue the servant of the Enemy wherever they go. Such it was when we were tracking the orcs. The Orcs whom we pursued took captive two of my friends. In such need a man that has no horse will go on foot, and he will not ask for leave to follow the trail. Nor will he count the heads of the enemy save with a sword. I am not weaponless."

Aragorn threw his cloak back. "Elendil! I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn of the Dunedain! I am Elessar, Elfstone, Dunedan! I am heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor. Behold the sword that was broken and has been reforged! Will you aid me, or thwart me? Choose swiftly!"

Everyone looked at Aragorn in awe. He seemed to have gotten taller, more noble. Miril smiled as she watched Éomer look upon Aragorn in amazement. She knew this side of Aragorn.

"Strange times these are indeed," Éomer murmured. "Legends springing out of the grass. And what of you, lady? What is your name?"

"Miril Lominzil," she bowed her head a little. "Daughter of Halbarad of the Dunedain and friend of Rivendell."

"Well met." Éomer turned back to Aragorn. "Lord, what brings you here? Long has Boromir son of Denethor been gone seeking answer West and his horse returned riderless. What doom do you bring?"

"I bring the doom of choice," Aragorn said. "You may tell Theoden this: war is upon him. He must choose to either fight or surrender. But now, what of the orcs that we have been hunting?"

"They are destroyed," Éomer told him. "All of them were killed."

"Did you come across our companions? They are small folk, less than half my height," Aragorn asked.

"We found neither children nor dwarves," Éomer shook his head. "Not even among the slain."

Aragorn grimaced. "They were neither of those."

"They were Hobbits," Gimli cut in.

"What is a hobbit?" Éomer asked. "This name is strange to me."

"Halflings," Miril clarified.

A man beside Éomer laughed. "Halflings are but a myth. Just old children's tales. They are not real."

"A man might be both a myth and real," Aragorn shook his head.

"Éothain," Éomer said to his companion, "Go. Take the éored and prepare them to ride."

The man nodded and rode off with the others to lineup. Éomer turned to Aragorn and his companions. They spoke of many things concerning the Fellowship's journey but left out all regarding the Ring. In the end, Éomer was amazed but agreed to help them.

"You are fortunate, for we have four horses without riders now after the battle. They will bear you whither you will go," Éomer told them. "But you must return them to Meduseld when you have found your companions, and thus you shall prove to Theoden that my trust was not misplaced."

"Three only we will need," Gimli insisted. "I will not ride."

"You must," Aragorn sighed. "Haste is needed!"

"You shall ride with me, my friend," Legolas laughed. "I shall tame the beast for us both!"

Aragorn mounted upon a grey stallion called Hasufel, Legolas and Gimli rode the white Arod, and Miril mounted the black Tor. They bid farewell and good luck to Éomer before riding off the way the Riders had come from. Their cloaks billowed in the wind as they went.

Miril could feel the bulging muscles of her new steed beneath her as Tor galloped on. He was no Daeroch, that was for certain. Daeroch was built for agility, but Tor was built for speed and power. She whispered in his ear an elvish thank you, and it almost seemed to understand her.

"Aragorn," she called, riding to catch up with him. "Aragorn, who _is_ Éomer?"

"I knew his father, Éomund. He was a good man, as I am sure Éomer is as well." Aragorn said.

"I hope to come to Meduseld," Miril smiled. "I want to know more about these horselords."

"Illuvatar willing, we will all come there."


	44. Unexpected Visitor

It was evening by the time the small company reached the eaves of Fangorn Forest. A great, burning pile of orc corpses had been erected and beside it, a pile of armor and weapons lay. The air stank of rotting, burning flesh and boiling blood. It was absolutely disgusting. Miril wrinkled her nose and covered it with her cloak in an attempt to shield herself from the fumes as they got close.

"The hobbits must be dead, I'm afraid," Gimli sighed as he looked on the fire.

Miril disagreed. "Do not forget they were clothed like us, in elven grey. It is possible they slipped through undetected."

"Indeed," Aragorn agreed. "Anyways, we will not depart this place tonight. We need rest and I will search with the light of day."

Aragorn and Gimli were quite cold that night as they sat beneath the edge of the trees. They each had only one blanket. Gimli spoke up.

"Let us light a fire," he suggested, shivering. "It might attract the hobbits!"

Aragorn grimaced. "Or other things. We are close to the northern neck of Saruman's lands. Besides, you should not put axe to any living tree here."

"We'll collect dead wood then," Gimli argued.

In the end, Aragorn relented and agreed. Legolas and Gimli started collecting fallen wood and piling it together. Miril, meanwhile, was standing apart from the group, staring off into the dark forest.

Aragorn walked up to her and asked her what the matter was. "Are you alright?"

"Indeed," she sighed. "I just can't quite tell... well this forest doesn't seem evil. Not like Mirkwood. Why did Lord Celeborn warn us against it?"

Aragorn shrugged. "I have always been told there is a danger in Fangorn. Always. Never have I entered this wood for more than a day or so. But I have been told it is deadly."

Miril walked forward towards the trees and took a whiff of air. "It does not smell evil. But it does smell ancient."

Aragorn nodded. "I'm going to rest. If you're going to be up, take first watch would you?"

Miril smiled and turned to him. "Of course. I will wake Gimli when my turn is up."

Aragorn nodded in agreement and went back the few paces to where the fire was. Already Legolas was lying motionless on the ground, eyes unseeing as he bent living world and deep dream as the elves did. Gimli looked tired so Aragorn told him to rest, and told him he was up for watch after Miril's turn. The elder Dunedain Ranger then went to bed as well leaving Miril awake alone.

She spent much of her time looking and listening to the forest. She listened to the rustle of the leaves, the scratching of branches against one another. She watched the shadows dance beneath the bows. She sat beside the fire, tending to it.

Suddenly Miril rose from her seat and walked forward towards the nearest tree less than a few paces away. She placed her hand on the trunk and breathed deeply. The tree was very much alive. It felt different even from the Mellyrn of Lothlorien. No, this tree felt more like the trees of the Old Forest.

* * *

_"Be careful if you travel there alone, Miril," Halbarad told his daughter who had just finished her formal training in the arts of the Rangers. "The Old Forest can be very dangerous."_

_"I'll be sure to take someone, father." Miril smiled. "I know. I'll take Althea!"_

_Althea was Miril's closest friend among the Rangers. The blonde haired, blue eyed Ranger was nearly thirty at this point, five years older than Miril. She even looked twice Miril's age due to the slower bodily aging of the half-elf. But the two were good friends nonetheless._

_"Come on Althea," Miril said, grabbing the ranger by the arm. "Halbarad wants us to check out the Old Forest."_

_Althea smiled. "Hold on, Miril. Let me get my gear!"_

_Althea jogged back to her tent to retrieve her sword and cloak. Throwing them on, she was ready to go and told Miril this. They both set out at a steady pace along the secret paths beside the road._

_The day passed by slowly to the two women. But eventually they reached the eaves of the forest and ducked beneath the trees. Miril, having been in the forest only briefly before, allowed the more experienced Althea to take the lead. She led them by hidden ways and unmarked paths._

_"There's someone your father wanted you to meet," Althea told Miril. "He's kind of unique."_

_"Someone lives in this wood?" Miril asked in surprise. "I can feel the malice radiating off these trees. Who would, or could, live here?"_

_"His name is Tom Bombadil. No one quite knows what he is," Althea admitted._

_At the name of Bombadil, a great tree branch fell from a high place and landed but inches from Althea. Miril glared at the trees around her. This wood was very much alive and kicking. They had to be very careful indeed._

* * *

The Old Forest was filled with malice, and Miril could tell there were places within this Fangorn Forest that felt similarly black. But those places were far away. The trees near them were merely watchful, guarded. Maybe a bit suspicious.

She continued watch for another hour before she felt sleep demanding to take over. Rousing Gimli, Miril laid her head down on her pack and fell immediately into slumber. But soon enough she was awoken when Gimli made a loud noise jumping to his feet.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Miril all jumped or sat up in response. They looked where Gimli was facing and found an old man leaning on a staff.

"Can we help you, good father?" Aragorn asked loudly to him. "Come and be warm, if you so desire!"

Everyone was thinking the same: Saruman. Éomer had warned the four hunters that he wandered around hooded and cloaked. Yet this man had only one of those two, for he wore a wide brimmed hat, not a hood.

As soon as Aragorn moved towards the old man, he was gone. No trace of him that they could see was left, but they dared not investigate too far from the fire for the moon had set and it was pitch black.

"Saruman, perhaps?" Gimli grumbled.

"The horses!" Legolas cried. "The horses are gone!"

Far off the heard the whinnying and neighing of their horses. It was faint and distant. They all groaned at their misfortune.

"What will we tell Éomer?" Miril asked. "We lost his horses!"

"We'll have to get to Éomer first," Gimli pointed out. "And we'll have to walk there, evidently. For that I am very upset."

"Just this morning you wouldn't get on a horse!" Legolas laughed. "You'll make a rider yet."

Aragorn ordered they sleep some more, he himself taking up watch. He had much to think about.


	45. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOOD FOR THOUGHT:
> 
> I've actually heard quite a few theories as to who the mysterious visitor is. Most people assume Saruman, since this is what our protagonists assume. We know it isn't Gandalf because he says so explicitly. But why would Saruman be dressed with a hat, not a hood, as he is explicitly described by Éomer. Perhaps a mistake by Tolkien? I think not for the hunters discuss this very change themselves. And why would Saruman still be in that part of the forest when the orcs had been killed two days before? Also, why not kill the three hunters when he had the chance? Instead, I found another more plausible theory (at least in my mind). What if the visitor was Radagast? We know he isn't at Rhosgobel, that is mentioned in the text. Fangorn, however, is near to Mirkwood and a plausible location for Radagast. It would also explain why the horses were so excited. We assume it's because they found Shadowfax, but what if they found Radagast, friend of bird and beast, first. Who then guided the horses to Shadowfax? It would also explain why he hadn't attacked but merely disappeared. He had no desire to fight anyone. So anyways, that's a little food for thought.

When Miril woke, dawn was just beginning. The sun rose silently above the horizon casting sparkling waves of light pink and blue across the sky. Aragorn arose as well as Legolas roused them from sleep. The fire was low. Gimli went to gather some more dry dead wood and fed the flames as Legolas got out lembas for each. As it grew increasingly light out, they finished their small meal.

"I wish he had left footprints," Gimli grumbled about their visitor in the night.

Legolas looked at him in surprise. "Why?"

"Because an old man who leave prints might be no more than that: an old man," said Gimli.

Aragorn and Miril stood together surveying the search area. It was large and would take long. But they had to start somewhere.

"Miril, start searching near the weapons pile for any sign of the hobbits," Aragorn told her.

Miril nodded. "I'll start right away."

She walked over to the weapons pile near the burning rubble heap of corpses. It smelled less putrid than the day before, but she was not looking forward to this. As she approached, she examined the ground closely. There was not much to read that they didn't already know about. Many hoof prints litered the ground around the pile and flattened grass from where bodies had been dragged obscured specific prints.

She overheard Legolas respond to a question from Aragorn. Apparently he'd asked about the horses.

"The sounded simply gleeful," Legolas nodded. "Not filled with terror."

"I cannot read this riddle," Aragorn muttered.

The elder ranger got to work surveying the ground nearing towards the trees. He looked closely at the ground and checked for signs. There wasn't much to be read until he came upon a golden leaf that had turned slightly brown.

"Here we find news! Come, Miril," Aragorn beckoned to the other tracker.

She rushed over and read the signs before her as Gimli and Legolas came as well. She nodded.

"If I read these signs rightly," Miril mused. "We have a Mallorn leaf here, broken. Crumbs surround it but not so much to be more than extra that fell while someone ate it. And a piece of cut cord sits here, too."

Aragorn nodded. "And here is the knife."

He reached down and lifted up a jagged orc blade that was nearby. He looked at it closely as Legolas spoke.

"Here is the strangest riddle yet! A prisoner, with either hands or feet bound, stopped to take a bite of lembas and cut his bonds. If his arms were bound, how did he cut the rope? But if his legs were bound, how did he get here in the first place. Or if neither were bound, why'd he cut them in the first place, and how did he get free at all?" Legolas looked very confused. "Once he had rested, I assume he sprouted wings and flew away!"

Miril smiled but shook her head. "I think Aragorn will agree that there are other signs to consider."

He nodded with a slight smile. "Yes. There are. Miril?"

"There is orc blood," she pointed out. "A lot of orc blood. And heavy foot prints. There is also signs that a heavy body was dragged away, presumably an orc." Miril looked around for more.

Aragorn nodded. "I think the hobbit had his hands free, because it becomes easier then to read the riddle. Also, the signs clearly show that the hobbit was carried to this point by an orc. Why, I am unsure. Presumably not to help him escape."

"Perhaps…" Miril mused, trailing off.

"I think the orc was carrying the hobbit off before the battle." Aragorn nodded.

Miril agreed. "That would make sense. It would explain why once they had two hobbits, they were content with leaving the rest of us alive."

"But surely they would've been seen, being out in the open as they were," Gimli said.

Aragorn shook his head. "They were not 'out in the open' as you say. It was dark, and they still had their cloaks of Lorien. That is how they got through the barrier. Of course I say 'they', hoping both our friends were there, alive. But the signs only clearly prove one."

Miril walked along, following the very faint track of hobbit feet near the bank of the Entwash.

"One hobbit at least was here," she told them. "He went into the forest."

"Then into the forest we go," Aragorn sighed. "Do not harm any of the trees. Put away your axe, Gimli my friend."

Miril was the first to set foot into the trees. Legolas and Aragorn followed, with Gimli straggling behind at the rear. She was eager to find the hobbits, whether one or both was alive. Following the footprints until she lost them in the dry earth, she turned to Aragorn.

He took over the hunt, suggesting they stick to the river. He guessed that the hobbit, or hobbits, would make that way for an easy path back out.

"Here we find good tidings!" Aragorn smiled as he approached some softer ground along the bank of the river. "Two pair of footprints are here, both obviously hobbit."

They came then to a large hill with almost natural steps carved into it, though made perhaps for larger feet than theirs. Legolas insisted they climb and take a look. Scrambling up the rocky steps, they stood and marveled at the vastness of Fangorn.

Suddenly Legolas gave a shout. "Look! There in the trees back the way we came!'

His three other companions whipped around and stared into the wood. Miril caught a glimpse of a cloak.

"An old man, cloaked in grey," she hissed.

All three were ready to draw their weapons. Aragorn stood silent and Miril followed his example. Gimli cried for Legolas to shoot him. For the were sure it was Saruman. But Legolas hesitated.

"Legolas is right," Aragorn nodded. "We cannot shoot an old man unaware and unchallenged."

"Well met my friends," the old man said, as if noticing them for the first time. "I wish to speak to you. Will you come down, or will I come up?"

He began climbing the hill without waiting for an answer. Gimli told Legolas to shoot him, but the man looked up and spoke again.

"I said I wished to speak with you. Put away your bow, elf."

Legolas dropped the bow of Lorien to the ground and allowed his arms to hang limp at his sides. Gimli too, took his hand off his axe as the man spoke to him in turn.

"Now. What are an elf, a man, a dwarf, and a half elf doing in Fangorn. I have not seen much a thing here. What might you be up to?" The man looked at them keenly, though his face was hidden.

"You speak as one who knows Fangorn well," Aragorn said softly. "Who might you be, and what do you want with us?"

The old man laughed and Miril felt a shiver of power at the voice. She looked at him intently. Who was this man? Was it indeed Saruman?

"I have told you what I want, I would like to hear your tale!" He smiled. "As for my name, well, I'm sure you've guessed it. You've certainly heard it before!"

They would not answer.

The man sighed. "I know some of it. You set out with a company of nine. And this half elf was not part of it. Two of your company were taken by orcs and brought here. You must be searching for them."

Suddenly the man bounded up the rocks. He threw off his grey cloak and the light that shone from his white clothes beneath blinded all four hunters. Gimli raised his axe but it was struck down. Aragorn and Miril drew their swords, but both turned into flaming brands and were too hot to hold. Legolas cocked his bow and shot an arrow in the air.

"Mithrandir!" He cried. "Mithrandir!"

Miril laughed and cried at the same time. Mithrandir had returned. There was hope again. Hope that things might be made aright.


	46. A Hope Unlooked For

_A/N: Second chapter today. Be sure you've read the previous one!_

"Gandalf!" Aragorn shouted in joy and surprise. "Gandalf! You have returned, beyond hope and unlooked for."

The old man laughed. "Indeed, my friends."

"Gandalf, forgive me," Gimli begged. "I thought you were Saruman!"

"I suppose it is to be excused," Gandalf smiled. "We do look quite similar now. One might even say I am Saruman- as he should have been. And anyways, none of your weapons could harm me."

"Mithrandir," Miril smiled, tears in her eyes. "How came you back to us? When Aragorn told me of your passing, I thought all hope was lost."

* * *

_The first time Miril ever met Gandalf was at the age of five. She and her brother were living still at the settlement with Halbarad and Aragorn north of the Shire. One day, Aragorn returned from his travels with the grey wizard._

" _So you are little Miril," Gandalf said with a smile, shaking the little girl's hand. "I am Gandalf."_

" _Hi Mister Gandalf, sir." Miril nodded at him. "Can you do any magic, since you're a wizard?"_

" _Indeed I can. Perhaps someday you will see it," he laughed. "Until then, here."_

_Gandalf reached into his pocket and drew out a tiny wooden carving of a horse. It was made of silvery-white birch wood with two black, onyx eyes. Miril squealed in glee and took the miniature._

" _Thank you, Gandalf sir!"_

* * *

"Only the foolish despair," Gandalf said before laughing. "It is good to see you again, Miril. As for my return… I will not speak of it just yet, though the Lady Galadriel helped much. She sent the Eagle to find me."

"Ah!" Legolas nodded. "So that was the great bird we saw circling far from the mountains."

"Yes. Gwaihir the Windlord assisted me. I had him gather news." Gandalf smiled. "But now, tell me of your journey since we were separated. I know much, but not all."

They sat and spoke about many things for awhile. Aragorn did the talking, Miril, Legolas, and Gimli sitting by and adding interjections when appropriate. They spoke of the Ring and Frodo and Sam. They spoke of the hunt and of Éomer. Finally, they asked the question hot on their hearts.

"Do you have news of Merry and Pippin?" Miril asked at length. "Did you find them?"

Gandalf shook his head. "I did not. But Treebeard did. They are in good hands. Their coming has set an avalanche in motion and already I hear the first rumblings. Saruman best be far from home when the dam breaks."

"You always speak in riddles, Gandalf." Aragorn smiled and shook his head.

"Riddles? Nay."

Gandalf went on to explain that Merry and Pippin had run into Treebeard, or Fangorn, the eldest Ent in Middle Earth and unofficial ruler of Fangorn Forest, if put in simplistic, human terms. He was gathering many Ents together to attack Isengard.

"Wait a minute!" cried Gimli. "There is another thing that I should like to know first. Was it you, Gandalf, or Saruman that we saw last night?"

"Well it certainly wasn't me. I would guess it was Saruman, or Radagast perhaps. More likely Saruman." Gandalf shrugged. "Evidently we look so much alike now that your desire to put an incurable dent in my hat is excusable."

They spoke of Treebeard and the ents, of whither they would go now. Gandalf told them they should accompany him to Edoras where they would meet with Theoden of Rohan.

Gandalf then stood a spoke. "Messages I bring to you from Lady Galadriel. To Aragorn I was bidden to say this:

"Where now are the Dúnedain, Elessar, Elessar? Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar?  
Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth, and the Grey Company ride from the North. But dark is the path appointed for thee: The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea."

Aragorn looked troubled. What did Lady Galadriel mean?

"To Legolas she sent this word: Legolas Greenleaf long under tree In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more."

Legolas grimaced. Gimli waited on bated breath for his. Miril waited for hers as well.

"To Gimli she said this: Lock-bearer, wherever thou goest my thought goes with thee. But have a care to lay thine axe to the right tree!"

Gimli grinned widely. He clapped his hands.

Gandalf then turned to Miril, a knowing look on his face. He spoke again.

"To Miril Lominzil, she sent this: Forget not your kindred nor those who love you. For you will need them. And above all, remember who you are."

Miril looked solemnly at Gandalf. She could tell that he knew that she knew about her ancestry now. She wondered how this would affect her relationship with Gandalf. Would he still trust her? Would he support her?

"Come. We must get moving." Gandalf stood from where he had been sitting.

"It is a long walk go Edoras," Legolas muttered.

Gandalf laughed. "I will not walk. Come!"

They followed Gandalf out of the forest, wondering what he meant. They were quite curious when at last they were out in the open and he halted. He gave a long, shrill whistle that cut through the chilled air definitively. Before too long they saw a magnificent stallion, grey coated, swiftly gallop up go Gandalf. Behind him, their three horses came, though slower, to stand before the company.

"This is Shadowfax, Lord of the Mearas. He is fleet of foot and swift like the wind." Gandalf mounted up. "Come! We must be going!"

The four hunters mounted their horses and took off behind the great steed. Miril was tired, but no longer exhausted. The good news she had learned about the two hobbits had revitalized her spirit. As she sped behind Gandalf, the White Rider, she marveled at the speed of his horse. Shadowfax was truly a magnificent creature.

Day turned into night. They kept riding, taking periodic breaks to rest the ordinary horses at a light trot, but most times they were at a gallop. They had to reach Edoras. They had to reach Theoden.


	47. Promises Kept

They rode through dusk, evening, night, and dawn. The air was chilly and Miril was sleepy despite the few hours' rest they had been allotted half way through the night. She longed for a bath and a bed, a warm supper and clean clothes. She hoped they would find that at Edoras with the Rohirrim. Eomer had seemed kind enough. Miril could tell her horse was exhausted. She saw that his muscles were bulging beneath her and she was glad when morning came and Legolas spoke up.

"Look!" he said as they halted for a few moments' rest. "A house of gold at the foot of the Mountains upon a large, green hill. Other homesteads I see as well. Is that Edoras, Gandalf?"

"It is indeed, Legolas. The great golden hall is Meduseld, the home of King Theoden of Rohan. Do not draw your weapons nor use haughty word. This is their land." Gandalf insisted this. "Let us ride on!"

Miril was very excited, quivering with anticipation. Up until now, all folk she had met were ones she knew of previously. But she had never been to Rohan. She had heard stories from Aragorn when he would visit her in Rivendell during his travels. He would tells stories of his journeys through Rohan and Gondor, of his time in the courts of Thengel under the guise Thorongil.

* * *

" _Aragorn!" Miril shouted, running forward towards the man who was her uncle in all ways but by blood. "Aragorn!"_

" _Hello, Miril," he smiled, bending down to one knee and embracing the girl. "How is Rivendell treating you?"_

_The fourteen year old girl smiled. "Wonderfully! I just miss my father. He visits, but not often enough."_

_Aragorn nodded knowingly. "I understand. Tell you what, after I speak with Lord Elrond, I will tell you a story before bed. Is it not growing close to that time?"_

_Miril sighed, looking up at the sky. The moon was growing steadily higher. She nodded and walked past the Last Homely House to where her bedroom was. She prepared for bed, dressing in her nightgown and washing her face with a bucket of clean water. She climbed into bed after making sure her door was unlocked so Aragorn could get in. Miril sat under the covers, the candles in her room lighting it up just enough for her to stay awake._

_Aragorn knocked on the door softly before slipping inside. He took off his cloak and sat down in a chair that he pulled over to the side of the bed. Miril smiled though her eyes drooped from sleepiness._

" _What do you wish to hear about?" he asked with a smile._

_Miril shrugged. "What about your time in Rohan?"_

_Aragorn nodded in satisfaction. "You always did like those tales."_

_Miril snuggled beneath the blankets and sheets and waited for her friend to continue. Aragorn sat back and started his tale._

" _Many long years ago, I served as a member of Rohan under King Thengel, and Gondor as well, as a man named Thorongil…"_

* * *

They rode on, coming closer and closer to Edoras until they were right on top of the settlement. They dismounted their horses and walked up the hill to the entrance of the Golden Hall. They were halted by two guards who spoke in Rohirric.

"Can you not tell we are visitors," Gandalf sighed. "Speak in the Common Tongue!"

"We have been told not to allow guests save those that speak and understand our tongue," one of the guards finally said. "And you are a wizard, are you not? Are you a spell of Saruman's? Some conjured witchcraft?"

"Nay we are not phantoms." Aragorn shook his head, stepping forward. "These are your horses which were lent to us by Eomer, Third Marshal of the Mark. He bid us return them and speak to your master."

"It was only two days ago that Wormtongue came to us and told us not to admit visitors. But perhaps some news has reached the King then regarding your visit, if what you say is true. Give me your names, and I will relay them to the King," the guard nodded.

"I am Gandalf. I have returned, brought by Shadowfax, lord of the Mearas, given to me by your King." He paused before continuing. "My companions are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Kings. Here also are Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf. Last, but not less than the others, is Miril, a half elf of the West."

The man looked upon them in wonder. He went inside and relayed the information to whoever he needed to speak to. Miril shuffled her feet as she waited impatiently. Gandalf placed a hand on her shoulder and she stood still.

They were approached by a new man who came out the door. "I am Hama, doorwarden of Theoden. Here I must ask you lay down your weapons before entering."

Legolas nodded and stepped forward, handing over his bow. "Keep these well, for they are from the Lady of the Golden Wood."

Aragorn and Miril both hesitated.

"I do not wish to place Anduril into the hands of anyone but my own," Aragorn protested.

"But it is the will of Theoden, Lord of the Golden Hall," Hama reminded him immediately.

"I am not sure that even though he be lord of Gondor, that Elendil's heir should bend to his will." Aragorn looked at him stubbornly.

Gandalf sighed. "Come, Aragorn. We must go in."

Aragorn sighed. "Very well. But here I place it, and death will surely come to any who touch it. For this is Anduril, the shards of Narsil reforged, Flame of the West. See no man touches it."

Hama looked upon him in wonder. "It shall be done, lord."

Gimli nodded. "If my axe has Anduril to keep it company, then I suppose I will lay it down."

At last, all eyes fell on Miril. She fingered the mithril hilt of her sword with her hands and frowned. Why should she give up her sword? It would be easy pickings for any petty thief, and it was much more powerful, forged by Feanor himself, than any ordinary sword.

"Miril?" Gandalf prompted.

She glared at the ground but nodded. "Very well. Though the same vow that Aragorn laid upon Anduril is upon this sword. See that no one touch it, or you will die. For this is Galmegil, Sword of Light. And it belongs to me."

Aragorn looked at her sidelong. When had she decided on a name for the sword?

She shrugged in response to his obvious silent question. She'd tell him some other time.

Hama nodded quickly. "Of course, lady. Now, Gandalf, I'm afraid I must ask you put down your staff."

Gandalf glared, "It is one thing to request that weapons be placed at the door. But my walking stick? It is but a prop, a help."

"In the hands of a wizard, a staff could be much more." Hama sighed. "But very well. Follow me."

The five companions walked into the large hall. Miril was amazed at the architecture. It reminded her a bit like the halls of the Beornings, with stories carved into the wooden beams. An old man sat, frail, in a throne at the end of the hall. Beside him sat a sickly, disheveled looking man. A great fire roared in the hall.

"Hail, Theoden son of Thengel. I have returned. For the storm comes, and now all friends should unite as one."


	48. The Golden Hall

Miril found that she missed most of the conversation between Gandalf, Theoden, and Grima Wormtongue. She was too enthralled by the carvings, the stories all around her. They were amazing, true masterpieces worth deciphering. She decided she'd need to do so at some later date. She was yanked back to the present by a comment Grima made about the "sorceress of the wood" and her "webs of deceit."

Gimli walked forward but Gandalf halted him immediately. Gandalf in turn began to softly him then sing a song*.

**"In Dwimordene, in Lórien**

**Seldom have walked the feet of Men,**

**Few mortal eyes have seen the light**

**That lies there ever, long and bright.**

**Galadriel! Galadriel!**

**Clear is the water of your well;**

**White is the star in your white hand;**

**Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land**

**In Dwimordene, in Lórien**

**More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men."**

Gandalf then stepped forward and cast off his cloak in magnificent fashion. His white robes projected light off in all different directions. No longer did he lean on his staff, but instead lifted it high and pointed it forward.

Gríma squealed, "His staff! I told you to take his staff!"

Gandalf glared at him and suddenly lightning flashed overhead and Gríma was silenced, sprawled in fear on the floor. Gandalf stepped forward towards the King once more.

"Take heart, Theoden, Thengel's son. For the night is here but day shall soon come." Gandalf smiled. "Better help you will not find. Come, leave this place and look upon the light of day."

To the surprise of the entire hall, especially to a woman close by the King, Theoden stood and began to walk towards Gandalf. The woman rushed forward and took his arm to help him. Miril looked at her, wondering who she was. Sad she looked, sad and yet cold.

Gandalf called out, "Open the doors! The Lord of the Mark comes forth!"

The doors were swung open and the sun shone through them. Theoden and Gandalf stood on the threshold with the woman at the King's side and the four hunters behind them.

Theoden smiled. "Leave me, Eowyn, sister-daughter. The time for fear is passing. I will be fine."

Eowyn nodded hesitantly and left them. The four hunters hung back. Eowyn let her eyes fall upon first Miril, and then Aragorn. She seemed curious about them both, but especially the elder Ranger. Finally she turned and walked away.

Theoden and Gandalf had been talking during the silent exchange between Miril and Eowyn. Theoden now was sending for Éomer by way of Háma. Éomer had been imprisoned for disobeying Theoden and threatening Gríma Wormtongue.

Miril looked at the King and noted that in the light, he did not look nearly as old as he had inside. He stood a little taller and his eyes were a little bluer. No longer did he lean upon a prop, but stood alone and high. He seemed very noble, a true king of men. She wondered what he would've looked like in his younger years.

Gandalf and Theoden were speaking in hushed tones. The four hunters were content to stand together, out of the conversation. Gandalf suddenly spoke louder.

"Your body would remember your old strength better if you had your sword," he told the King.

Theoden nodded. "Where did Gríma place it?"

Soon enough, Éomer appeared, escorted by Háma. When Éomer looked upon Theoden, he downcast his eyes after gazing in wonder at the strength of the man who had been so frail not long before.

"Take this, my Lord," he said, kneeling at his King's feet and offering his sword.

Theoden looked at him and Háma in surprise. "How does he have his sword?"

"I thought he was to be released, my Lord?" Háma asked, quivering. "When he bade me bring his sword, I obeyed."

"Only so I could lay it at your feet, my Lord," Éomer insisted yet again.

Gandalf nodded. "Will you not take it?"

Theoden straightened up and gripped the hilt. He picked it up slowly and felt new strength return to him. Miril marveled at him yet again. Truly this was a man of a line of kings. He had strength, beauty, courtesy.

"Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden!

Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward.

Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!

Forth Eorlingas!"*

The court echoed with Theoden's voice. His guards looked at him in wonder and surprise before shouting for him to command them. Éomer said something in Rohirric before the guards sprung into action.

"What shall I do, Gandalf?" Theoden asked the wizard.

"You have already begun," Gandalf smiled. "Gather your Riders. Prepare to meet Saruman's forces in battle, with Éomer to lead them. Meanwhile send the rest of your folk to Dunharrow with you at the lead."

Theoden shook his head. "Nay! I shall lead my folk."

"Then who shall protect your people, Lord," Aragorn asked him.

"I must think this through. In the meantime, rest. Clean yourselves up and have a good meal. I owe you as much," Theoden smiled.

The four hunters tried to argue but Theoden was insistent. Picking up their weapons, they followed a guard to a set of guest houses where they would perhaps stay the night. Aragorn walked beside Miril, with Legolas and Gimli together behind them. As they walked away, the heard Gríma shouting before seeing him run for a horse and ride away. Miril was surprised to see no one go after him.

"Why are they letting that traitor leave," she asked Aragorn as they walked.

He looked back at Gandalf. "Probably out of mercy. But if they see him again… I doubt things will go well for Master Wormtongue."

"He doesn't deserve mercy," she argued darkly.

"Maybe not," Aragorn agreed. "But it is not our job to always be the executioner. Sometimes we need to take a step back and allow for redemption."

Miril chewed this over as they walked and arrived soon at the guest house. It was two to a room, so Aragorn and Miril dropped their stuff on the left side room and Legolas and Gimli strayed to the right. When all was finished, Miril took a sponge bath to clean off the dirt and grime and sweat of the last several days. Once she was done, the sponge and water was absolutely filthy, but she was much cleaner. She put on a new pair of Galadhrim raiment that she had brought with her and kept clean, while handing off her old clothes to a washerwoman to clean while she dined with the King.

Éomer it was that fetched them for dinner. The tall, blonde man of Rohan knocked on the door and Aragorn opened it.

"The king is ready, if you are," Éomer said.

Miril smiled, coming forward, her hair braided back behind her head, newly washed and cleaned. The scar on her cheek was healing nicely and was but a white scratch now. She was starving.

"We are most definitely ready," she nodded.

"Then follow me Lady, Lords," he smiled. "The King awaits."

They followed Éomer into Meduseld, the Golden Hall. A large table was laid out with food. Gandalf sat with Theoden who was at the head of the table. Éomer sat on Theoden's other side, and next to him sat Legolas and then Gimli. Next to Gandalf sat Aragorn, followed by Miril. Eowyn in turn served them before taking her seat next to Miril. The two women nodded in greeting.

Theoden and Gandalf were discussing Saruman but Miril wanted to know more about Eowyn.

"You are Eowyn, yes?" Miril asked, turning to the woman clad in white.

Eowyn nodded. "Indeed. And you are?"

Miril smiled. "Miril Lominzil, Ranger of the North."

The Rohirric woman took a bite of her food before responding. "You are a ranger? Are you an elf?"

Miril chuckled lightly, "You are half right. I am Half-elven."

The two women stopped their chatter and went back to eating. Topics of conversation waxed and waned from Saruman to their missing companions to the inevitable war. Aragorn felt the stare of Eowyn on his face but he avoided it. She was an interesting woman, but he was pledged to someone else.

They finished eating and decided to set off soon. Miril was offered chainmail but declined. She decided against it, choosing instead to stick with her grey Galadhrim garb. Gimli took some, though.

They rested for an hour before the riders were finally fully marshalled. Theoden decided to appoint Eowyn head of the women and children. She was to take them to Dunharrow and protect the house.

Theoden and Éomer mounted up, followed by Gandalf and the four hunters. Gimli rode with Éomer this time around. His horse, Firefoot, would bear them both. Legolas mounted Arod again and Aragorn, Hasufel. At last Miril pulled herself up onto Tor.

"The King and the White Rider!" the townsfolk cried and changed. "The King and the White Rider!"

"Forth, Eorlingas!" Éomer called and they sped forth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song from Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers


	49. Helm's Deep

The ride towards Isengard was short lived. Soon, they had to change plans and rode instead to Helm's Deep after realizing just how many enemies they were up against. Meanwhile, Gandalf left them to do some business of his own.

They rode through the night and all the while came across scattered companies and burned homesteads. Erkenbrand was nowhere to be seen, which meant less reinforcements. But Theoden was insistent upon following Gandalf's plan to defend Helm's Deep.

At last they reached the Hornburg and rode up the small causeway to the gates.

"Open! The Lord of the Mark comes to Helm's Deep," Éomer shouted.

The gates opened immediately and a man stepped forward. "Beyond all hope you have come at our need! For Erkenbrand has not been seen for many days."

"Gamling, how many do you fight with?" Theoden asked.

"A thousand men on foot, my Lord," said the older man. "And provision there is in the Deeping Caves along with most of the folk of Westfold."

"Good."

The army of riders went on inside, stabling their many horses before reporting to Éomer for deployment along the massive walls. Miril ended up upon the wall. The boys around her were very young, no older than eighteen. They shook where they stood upon the battlements. She realized she had to do something about it.

"What are your names," she asked a group of them that stood near her.

A boy with shaggy blonde hair spoke up first, "Hammond, lady."

"Alwyn is mine," said a brown haired boy.

Another volunteered the information. "My name is Ealdun."

She smiled. "I am Miril of the Dunedain of the North."

"Are you an elf," Alwyn asked her curiously.

Miril smiled again. She was certainly used to that particular question. With a shake of her head she answered the same as always.

"Nay. But I am Half-elven," she told them.

Suddenly the rain began, pouring down around them. It was pitch black, but small points of torch light, thousands upon thousands in the sea of orcs, speckled the land and came closer. The sound of armor clanking was excruciatingly loud. Mixed with the rolls of thunder, Miril could barely hear herself think.

Suddenly the orcs stopped right in front of the walls. A flash of lightning amidst the chaos of the storm revealed their ugly, brutal faces and the sharp points of their weapons. Miril drew her sword from its sheathe.

" _A Elbereth Gilthoniel, tíro nin_ ," she sighed.

"What does that mean?" Ealdun asked her, his voice shaking in fear.

Miril glanced at him before turning back to watch the orcs. "O Star-kindler, watch over me."

Suddenly a great cry went up from the orcs and they began to assault the walls to no avail. At least not until they brought the ladders to climb. Miril instructed the boys to get behind her as the first ladder was raised near her position. She planned to protect these young men with her life.

As the first orc climbed up over the wall from the ladder, Miril hacked his head off with a massive swing of her sword, Galmegil. But the next man-sized orc was soon upon her. She stepped back and readjusted her grip. With a cry she stepped forward and pushed the orc back towards the edge of the wall.

"We are the fighting Uruk-hai! You cannot defeat us!" the orc sneered as a second one climbed up beside him.

"Ealdun!" She shouted to the boy who was now cut off from her. "Defend yourself!"

Miril managed with a large shove to topple the Uruk-hai down from the wall. But his friend had cornered Ealdun. Miril, noticing an opening, decided to push the ladder off the wall with Alwyn's assistance. Finally with that done, she turned around in time to see Ealdun's head role to the floor. The other two boys looked at the massive Uruk in horror, but Miril sprung into action, tripping the beast and stabbing him in the neck.

Miril told them something vital in that moment as there was a lull in the battle, "Don't think about him. Don't think about death. Think only about life. Only then will you survive this. Do you understand?!"

They nodded quickly.

"Then defend yourselves!"

An Uruk from down the platform came running up behind her and she spun out of the way of his swing, cutting off his sword arm. He raised his shield as she brought another roaring blow down onto him. The force pushed her backwards and she stumbled. The Uruk was about to stab her in the abdomen when Alwyn struck him in the arm. The distraction gave Miril enough time to slit the orc's throat and push his body down off the wall. Blood sprayed forward, hitting the two young men while Miril stayed relatively untouched.

The fighting continued for hours. Miril did her best to keep the ladders off the walls and take care of the two young warriors. Uruk-hai warrior after Uruk-hai warrior attacked her, but she managed to stay relatively unscatched with only a small blow to the head and a cut on her leg. Alwyn and Hammond were likewise fine. Soon enough, though, the fighting would get only that much harder.

A cry barely floated up to where Miril was fighting a rather large Uruk. "The orcs are behind the Deep! The orcs are behind the Deep!"

She finished it off and looked where the noise had come from. She saw Gimli shout something in Khuzdul before leaping down among a group of orcs that had crept in through the stream outlet.

"Alwyn, Hammond, follow me!" Miril yelled over the intense fighting.

Alwyn turned to follow when he was stabbed through the gut by an orc that had just climbed over the wall. He fell forward with a cry of agony. Miril frowned but knew there was nothing she could do. Hammond, staring in horror, stayed where he was.

"Come on! Hurry, Hammond!" She shouted.

Hammond broke out of his stupor and leapt down beside her, taking the stairs two at a time. They both roared into the fray, swords blazing. Galmegil was shining in the lightning, the mithril hilt all but glowing with each bolt across the sky.

They were followed by a group of Gamling's Helmingas. The onset of the warriors was so fierce that they soon slayed the orcs or sent them shrieking into the Glittering Caves where they fell to the guardians there. With this plan foiled, there was a lull in the fighting.

"Twenty-one," Gimli grinned. "How many for you, Miril?"

"I wasn't counting," she shrugged. "Too many things to think about."

"My count passes Master Legolas' again," the dwarf said with a contented smile.

Miril nodded. She turned around to speak to Hammond. That's when she saw him. Hammond was sitting down, an orc sword in his chest. Miril rushed over to him. She felt for a pulse, but there was none. Bowing her head, she said a quick prayer to Illuvatar before standing up.

"The Rohirrim will be hard pressed to win this I'm afraid," she sighed.


	50. Dawn's Rising

Eager to get up on the wall, she followed Gamling and Gimli up the steps to where Legolas, Aragorn, and Éomer were standing. Aragorn looked at the sky.

"Dawn is not far off," he commented.

Gamling shrugged. "It will do no good. The sun does not affect these orcs, nor the hillmen that are with them."

"Still, dawn has ever been the hope of men. I will place my hope in it this time as well," Aragorn replied.

Miril frowned and looked out beyond the wall. She sighed, thinking about her failure to protect the young men she'd been with. There were too many children fighting in this battle. There were young and old, few in their prime. Was there hope for them, even with the coming dawn?

Miril stayed silent while the others spoken for a while and rested. It wasn't until a massive explosion rocked the wall that she sprung out of her dark ruminations.

"They've lit the fires of Orthanc below us! Elendil, Elendil!" Aragorn shouted, leaping down the stairs.

A section of the wall had toppled, allowing hundreds of enemies to swarm behind the Deeping Wall. Aragorn and Miril, Legolas and Gimli, Éomer and Gamling all sped down the stairs to help evacuate the defenders.

Miril slew orc after orc. She swung Galmegil to and fro, hewing body parts from the Uruk-hai invaders. She stabbed and slashed while Rohirric defenders ran up to the Keep. At last, she heard Legolas call to her and Aragorn that all were clear.

She turned to run back when she slipped. Aragorn too had fallen, and Legolas had but one arrow. He shot the orc attacking Aragorn, leaving Miril unprotected.

She rolled onto her back and stabbed upwards with her sword, killing an Uruk. She managed to spring up but not before another Orc shot at her. The arrow skimmed her lower leg above the ankle, leaving a large cut. She shouted in pain but managed to make it up to the door just in time.

She sunk down against the wall, pressing her hand against the cut. Fortunately the arrow hadn't been poisoned, based on the cleanness of the cut. Aragorn lifted her up and carried her as she still was slightly in shock from the experience.

"I can walk," she breathed after several moments. "Put me down."

Aragorn nodded and carefully placed her on her feet. She turned to look at who had gotten with them to the Keep.

"Where are Gimli and Éomer?" she asked worriedly.

"We think they are in the Glittering Caves," Legolas replied.

Aragorn turned to her. "Go, find the healers to wrap your wound then meet us in the Hornburg. We must speak to King Theoden. The Wall has fallen."

She nodded and limped off to where the healers had set up stations. She found them soon enough and waited for her turn. As she sat down to be patched up, she looked around. Many injured sat near her. It wasn't long before her cut was wrapped and ointment applied to her small head wound. Now she had to find Aragorn.

She made her way up to where the King was. When she got there, she was surprised to find that he had made a decision already.

"We ride at first light. A last stand worthy of song," said the King.

Dawn was not far off. In fact, it was about half an hour away. Just in time to prepare the horses. Every able bodied man mounted their horses and stood ready to ride out. Aragorn rode beside the King at his side. Miril and Legolas went behind him. They waited for the signal.

The sun rose.

A great horn sounded across the plains, silencing the cries of the orcs. The gates opened and the riders flooded forward. Miril gave a cry in Quenya elvish that only Aragorn understood.

" _Útulie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalie at Atanatarí, útulie'n auré_!"

She had shouted a legendary elvish battle cry. It meant "The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!" It was coined by Lord Fingon during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, during the First Age.

Aragorn smiled and responded in elvish as well. " _Auta í lómë! Aurë entuluva!"_

Miril grinned. She loved that phrase. Night is passing. Day shall come again. It was also a battle cry from that same battle. The response to her shout.

They rode forth, cleaving through the Uruk-hai like a sword. Miril killed many atop Tor, her horse of Rohan. She felt the wind in her face as she separated heads from bodies. The orcs were no match for her sword and horse. In fact, the entire charge had driven the orcs away from the Hornburg. But something strange happened then.

As they went to keep driving the orcs back, they found themselves staring at a dark forest that hadn't been there before. The riders stopped, hemming in the orcs next to the treess and against the mountain. There was only one path of escape.

But soon the orc's doom came from there as well. Gandalf appeared atop Shadowfax, leading a huge company of unmounted men, led by Erkenbrand himself. The orcs, so frightned by the Rohirrim and Gandalf, fled into the trees. They were never heard from again.

So it was at last that Theoden and Gandalf met again on the field of battle. Miril smiled at Gandalf and nodded her thanks. She, Legolas, and Aragorn led their horses forward towards the King and the Wizard. After a few minutes of breathing and small talk, a great cry was heard. The warriors who had been forced back into the Glittering Caves had come forth and now joined the host of Rohirrim on the fields. Gimli and Éomer were both there.

Miril smiled when she saw them. Gimli, sporting a small cut on his head, burst forward and bragged to Legolas that he had won the game. Legolas agreed that he had and told the dwarf that he was just glad Gimli was alive. Theoden and Éomer spoke at length about what had happened. Meanwhile, Miril conversed with Aragorn and Gandalf.

"The Rohirrim may have been victorious today," she sighed. "But they have lost much and many good people."

"Yet they will survive." Gandalf nodded.

Aragorn agreed. "The Rohirrim are a strong people. Do not worry for them."

Miril supposed they were right. Yet she knew she'd never forget the fear on the faces of those three young men, boys, as they were slaughtered by Uruk-hai monsters.

"What are these trees, Gandalf?" Theoden asked, coming forward with Éomer and followed by Legolas and Gimli.

"They are Huorns," Gandalf told them. "They hate orcs."

"What now, Gandalf?" Theoden asked.

Gandalf spoke, "I will return to Isengard. I suggest you come with me and bring your grievances before Saruman. Bring with you a small company so we may ride faster."

Theoden nodded. "I will bring with me the Lords of my house."

"We also will go," Aragorn nodded.

"Then rest up. We will leave come afternoon."


	51. Road to Orthanc

When they had rested, the company set off, about twenty five altogether. They approached the mysterious forest and Gandalf warned them all to be wary of where they put their weapons; they didn't want to make the trees angry. Miril rode behind Legolas and Gimli as they shared one horse. They entered the trees and Miril looked around in wonder, awe, and something akin to- but not quite- fear. The darkness beneath the bows was not as complete as the darkness of Mirkwood, more like the forest of Fangorn. She supposed that was where these Huorns as Gandalf had called them came from.

"These trees are very old, but very much alive," Miril murmured. "I would love to study them more closely."

The rider behind her grunted. "No thank you. I can't wait to get out."

Miril dropped back to talk to him. "What is your name, good sir?"

The blonde haired man was young, she could tell by his face. He must have been part of the Royal Guard based on the coloring and armor he wore. He looked at her and responded.

"I am Cenric," he said. "You are Miril, correct? A half-elf ranger?"

"Indeed," she nodded.

"You ride the steed my brother raised and rode," Cenric said. "Tor is a good horse. One of the best. Though I do wish he'd borne my brother back to me."

"I am sorry for your loss," Miril frowned.

Cenric nodded his thanks. He remained silent for awhile, and Miril did not press him into conversation. They continued the slow walk through the trees atop their horses. No sign of the orcs that had fled in there was anywhere to be found.

"I wonder where the orcs went," muttered Cenric.

Miril agreed with a nod of her head. "I have no idea."

They finally came to the edge of the forest and filed out. Miril was surprised when Legolas gave a cry. He was shouting that there were eyes in the trees. Turning to return to the forest, Gimli begged to be put down if Legolas was to be so foolish.

"Do not go back in, Legolas!" Gandalf insisted. "You will have time enough to explore these mysterious trees later. Come!"

Legolas hesitated but turned back to follow the group. He muttered something but followed Aragorn. Éomer dropped back to where Miril was.

"Gamling told me of the support you showed the boys on the wall. I wanted to thank you for that." Éomer nodded.

Miril looked away but nodded as well. "I failed in the end. All perished while I still lived."

"Such is the curse of seasoned warriors," Éomer sighed. "Do not let yourself feel down because your best was not enough to save them."

"It should be enough," she grumbled. "I will avenge their deaths."

"You avenged them ten-fold with your part in the victory, Lady Miril. They died for their homeland." Éomer pointed this out clearly. "Do not lessen their sacrifice by belittling it."

Miril sighed. What Éomer said was true. Éomer, now heir to King Théoden, was a kind man but also took very little nonsense. He would not allow her to sulk.

Suddenly the riders in front of her halted. For coming towards them were three large… creatures. They were man-like and yet also tree-like. All three were at least fourteen feet high, and greenish grey. Their skin was leathery like bark and they took great strides. These creatures didn't even give the riders a second look.

"Put down your weapons!" Gandalf shouted as the riders drew them out. "They are herdsmen, and mean is no harm."

Éomer and Miril rode up to Gandalf, Theoden, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. They stared at these creatures in wonder and fear.

"Herdsmen," Théoden asked incredulously. "Where is their herd?"

"They are tree-herders. Ents, Théoden," Gandalf revealed.

"Ents!" Théoden cried in disbelief. "This day keeps growing stranger with every passing hour!"

They continued on forany leagues, Miril mostly riding in silence. Aragorn eventually dropped back to her side when he noticed she was nodding in her saddle.

"Are you alright," he asked her quietly, coming alongside her.

Miril droopily opened her eyes. She was having trouble concentrating and she felt weak. But she wouldn't say that.

"'m fine."

"No you're not." Aragorn looked her over quickly.

He noted that her leg was red with blood. Fortunately they were nearing camp for the night. He looked at her in concern. She was having trouble staying up in the saddle.

"Gandalf, how long until we camp?"

"Not long. Another twenty minutes or so," the wizard told him. "What is wrong?"

"I believe Miril is losing blood from her leg wound," he whispered to the White Rider. "I need to redress it."

"Alright."

They arrived at their campsite that night between two streams. Or what would've been streams had the water been more than a small trickle. They wondered what that meant. As soon as they arrived, Aragorn dismounted Hasufel and handed it to Legolas. He and Éomer gently removed Miril from Tor and the ranger carried her to where a tent was already set up. He put her down and she protested wearily. Aragorn pushed her pant leg up and undid the bandage. It was soaked with blood.

"Mir, this is much worse than you told me," Aragorn sighed. "You must take care of yourself."

"I did'n know," she protested with a slurred voice as she drifted in and out of consciousness. "Just fix it."

Aragorn called for medical supplies and they were brought to him. He began stitching up the wound and fortunately for both of them, Miril had passed out. Éomer was looking on, needing to ask Aragorn something.

"What is that brooch she wears? It is unlike any sign I have seen." Éomer pointed to it.

Aragorn smiled. "That is the star that Elrohir, Son of Elrond, has taken as his symbol. She is his beloved."

Éomer nodded, satisfied. "Theoden and Gandalf wanted to see you."

Aragorn stood and followed him out. "Lead the way."

Éomer and Aragorn walked to the tent where Gandalf and Théoden were. The two were waiting for them. As soon as the younger two walked in, they were greeted.

"How is Miril," Gandalf asked Aragorn.

He sighed and pinched his nose. "That woman will get herself killed one of these days by not taking care of herself. But, she'll be fine this time. Just had to stitch up her leg wound."

Théoden nodded. "She seems too young to be riding with your companions. Too inexperienced."

Aragorn chuckled. "Do not let her hear you say that. She is much older than she looks. Nearly forty years. And she is a seasoned ranger by now."

"I never would've guessed," Éomer said in surprise.

"Truly she is headstrong, stubborn, rash, hot tempered. But a welcome companion," Aragorn nodded. "But that is not why you called me here."


	52. End of the Hunt

The next morning, Aragorn went inside the tent Miril had slept in and roused her with a gentle shake.

"It's dawn. We need to keep moving," he said to her quietly as she was still waking up.

"Why does my leg hurt so much?" she mumbled.

Aragorn smiled, "You don't remember? You nearly fainted from blood loss because you didn't get your leg wound fully treated. I stitched it up last night."

"Oh." She paused before testing her leg with help from Aragorn; it seemed stable enough.

"Breakfast is waiting for you outside. Saddle Tor and then grab some food," he ordered. "I'll make sure they save you some."

Miril nodded and went outside into the fresh air. Apparently, according to snippets of conversation she caught, the Huorns had passed by during the night. It had frightened many people. Miril had slept straight through. She found Tor and strapped on her bags, his saddle, and the reins. Then she went to get food. Gimli was there eating as well.

Both finished up their simple meal relatively quickly and went to mount their horses. Gimli, riding again atop Arod with Legolas, found the white steed beside the black Tor. The elf pulled the dwarf up behind him. Miril hopped up onto Tor and drove the horse forward to where Éomer and Aragorn were riding forward.

"When will we arrive at Isengard, do you think?" she asked.

Éomer looked at the sky. "Before midday certainly."

"There will be several hours at least until we arrive, though," finished Aragorn.

She nodded. "I look forward to it."

The company started off towards Isengard. As soon as they began, a rushing was heard and to their surprise, the River Isen began flowing once more. This confused them greatly. What did it mean?

"I wonder why the Isen flows again," Éomer muttered. "Strange this is."

"All will be made clear I'm sure when we arrive, " Gandalf assured him.

Miril trotted forward up to Aragorn. She was content to ride beside her friend and fellow ranger. She also had something she needed to do.

"Thank you, Aragorn."

He looked at her in surprise and confusion. "For what?"

"For tending my wounds last night. I am sorry I cause you such trouble," she sighed forlornly. "So thank you."

Aragorn smiled. "No need, my friend. And though truly you should take better care of yourself, it is no burden tending your wounds."

She bowed her head with a smile. Returning to silence, Miril watched as the ground turned into a path, then a road. They were approaching Isengard's outer ring. A large statue of a hand stood there, but it was broken and red as if with blood, no longer purely white. The Rohirrim were in awe.

For Isengard lay in ruins. The large, outer wall lay broken and the gates were hurled and twisted on the ground. Piles of rubble lined the road. They passed between these in wonder. The destruction was wholy awesome. They had no idea how to react. Water lay in pools all around, flooding the area.

As they passed between the gates, they halted. For a very strange thing was before them. A great rubble heap was there, and on it, almost unseen among the stone, two small figures were lying on it at their ease. No one spoke. One seemed asleep, the other sat blowing whisps and rings of blue smoke from a pipe. These two small figures didn't immediately notice the riders. Eventually, the smoking one did and he leapt up with a grin.

"Welcome, Lords, to Isengard! We are the doorwardrens. I am Merry, and my companion who alas is sleeping," here he kicked him, "is Pippin of the house of Took. We are from far in the North!"

"Was it Saruman who ordered you to guard his broken doors?" Gandalf chuckled.

"Nay! Treebeard did, as he had taken up lordship of Isengard. Saruman is within, holed up with one Wormtongue. Treebeard asked me to welcome the Lord of Rohan with fitting words." Merry shrugged. "I've done my best."

"And what about your companions!" Gimli cried, unable to hold back any longer. "A fine hunt you've led us! Through battle and death to rescue you. And here we find you sitting and feasting and smoking! Where'd you come by the weed you truants! I'm so torn between rage and joy that if I do not burst it will be a miracle!"

"You speak for me, Gimli. Though I'd prefer some wine," Legolas nodded.

"One thing you've not gained in your hunting, and that's brighter wits!" Pippin sat up. "For look at this field of victory! We've merely come by welp earned rewards and spoils!"

"You two rascals," Miril laughed. "I want to either kill you or hug you, though which I am not sure!"

The riders laughed. Theoden smiled and looked upon Merry and Pippin in wonder.

"It is plain we witness the meeting of dear friends." He turned to the wizard. "So these are the lost ones of your company, Gandalf! Strange days these are indeed. For are these not halflings, of which we used to call the Holbytlan?"

"Hobbits, sir, if you please," Merry corrected.

Theoden mulled it over, "Hobbits. Your tongue has strangely changed."

"Did Treebeard leave us some message, Merry? Or did you forget that with all your smoking?" Gandalf asked hurriedly.

"Yes he did. And I was getting to it! Treebeard said to ride around to the North. There you will find food and drink to your liking, and a meeting with Treebeard." Merry pointed.

"Very good." Gandalf nodded. "Come, Theoden."

The company of riders began the slow trek around the water and through the rubble. But Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Miril remained.

"So we found you at last," Aragorn smiled. "A fine chase we went on. And who would've thought it would end here."

"I want the tale," Miril said immediately.

"First, you shall have food and drink!" Pippin leapt up. "We saved some of the best for ourselves."

"Of course you did," Miril laughed. "Come then. Let us eat!"

Merry and Pippin led the group into a store room that was still above the flood. There they found a good store of food. Man-food, as Merry told them the ents called it. Wine also they found, and they took it outside to eat and drink.

They ate mostly in silence and soon enough they were finished. Gimli praised the hobbits for the food and said the score was close to being settled.

"Now let us smoke awhile," Pippin suggested.

"Alas," Gimli sighed. "I lost my pipe in Moria. Did you not find one in all your scavenging?"

"No. But we can share," Merry offered.

Pippin held up his hand. "Hang on a moment. I keep an extra!"

He fished out an extra pipe from a pouch around his neck. Gimli thanked him profusely.

"Now I am in your debt," the dwarf said.

They filled their pipes and began to smoke. Miril never could get the hang of smoking so she sat beside Legolas who also went without. Aragorn stretched out and blew smoke rings.

"Look! Strider's come back," Pippin cried out with a smile.

"He never left," the ranger chuckled. "I am Strider and Aragorn too. And I belong to both Gondor and the North."

They finished up and soon spoke of many things. Merry and Pippin told their tale of the orcs and of Treebeard. The hunters told of the chase and of Theoden and Helm's Deep. It was a wonderful reunion of friends.

In the end, Miril began to let her thoughts stray and she thought of Elladan and Elrohir and Halbarad. She missed the North. She missed Rivendell. She missed her companions. She wondered when she would see them again. She wondered if she would see them again.


	53. Beware the Voice

It was later that day that the company of Rohan, Gandalf, and the remainder of the Fellowship met at the foot of Orthanc. Théoden, Aragorn, Miril, Gandalf, Gimli, and Éomer went up the steps for a closer look. Gandalf knocked on the door with his staff.

A window above the door opened and a voice came out, shrill and sickly, "What do you want?"

"Curse that voice," Theoden muttered. For it was Gríma.

"Go fetch your master, Wormtongue. Tell him we wish to speak." Gandalf glared up at the man.

He disappeared and Gandalf turned to the company. He warned them again: beware the voice of Saruman.

"Welcome to Isengard. Two of you I know well," a sweet voice floated down and a man in white walked out to the rail.

In later days, few recalled exactly what had transpired there. Instead, only feelings remained. Confusion, too, as to who and what to believe.

"Gandalf I know too well, but great King Théoden, what may I help you with?"

Everyone was stunned silent, but Gandalf watched knowingly. He said nothing either, but noted that as Saruman continued speaking, the riders on their horses seemed to grow uneasy, and glanced at Gandalf with mistrust.

"Remember Théodred at the Fords, and Háma's grave at Helm's Deep," Éomer insisted as he shook himself out of his stupor.

The flash of anger across Saruman's face was plain to see, and his voice changed. "Speak of this like poison, do you? What could be said of you, Éomer son of Éomund!"

Miril stared up at Saruman in wonder. Truly this was a powerful wizard. The traitor seemed to notice her for the first time and sneered.

"You bring a woman to this parley? Why do you insult me so, Lord Théoden? Shall we not have peace?" Saruman's voice returned to its gentle pace.

Miril gripped her sword but Aragorn placed a hand on her to steady her from doing something foolish. All attention turned to Théoden, to see what he might say.

The King of Rohan spoke slowly. "We will have peace."

Cheers of glee went up from the riders. Théoden held his hand up.

"We will have peace when you are dead. For though I am a lesser man than my forefathers, I will not bow to you, you liar and traitor! Your voice has lost its charm!"

Saruman, now, was stunned silent. He was so full of wrath, that Miril almost stepped back, but she held her ground. Saruman looked about to strike.

"Fool! Dotard! The House of Eorl is but a pack of savages who sleep with their horses." Saruman hissed. "How dare you insult me."

"Saruman!" Gandalf laughed. "Ah me, you should've been a King's jester! But will you not come down. For you know all too well what happens to traitors of Mordor."

"Come down?" Saruman cried in hysterics, "Come down? Does an unarmed man go treat with robbers? Nay I will not come down!"

He left the window.

'I did not give you leave to go,' said Gandalf sternly. 'I have not finished. Stay then! But I warn you. you will not easily come out again. Not unless the dark hands of the East stretch out to take you. Saruman!' he cried, and his voice grew in power and authority. 'Behold, I am not Gandalf the Grey, whom you betrayed. I am Gandalf the White, who has returned from death. You have no colour now, and I cast you from the order and from the Council.'

He raised his hand, and spoke slowly in a clear cold voice. 'Saruman, your staff is broken.'

There was a crack, and the staff split asunder in Saruman's hand, and the head of it fell down at Gandalf's feet.

'Go!' said Gandalf.

With a cry Saruman fell back and crawled away. At that same moment, a large object came hurlting down from above. It rolled into the water near Pippin. He stooped and picked it up. It was a large, black sphere. He gazed at it. Gandalf, turning to face him, quickly took it and wrapped it away.

"Thank you, Pippin." Gandalf nodded and turned back. "Well then. Our work here is done. Come, let us move from this place."

Treebeard and a dozen other ents met them at the exit of Isengard. Merry rode behind Gandalf and Pippin behind Aragorn, but when they saw Treebeard they insisted upon saying goodbye.

"So you are the other companions, hmm?" Treebeard nodded slowly, looking at Aragorn, Miril, Legolas, and Gimli. "An elf, a dwarf, a man, and a half-elf. Strange indeed."

Treebeard said his farewell to Merry and Pippin and soon the riders went on. They needed to leave Isengard as quickly as possible. They rode on, deep into night fall. Finally they came to rest and set up camp.

Miril was glad of the break in riding, for she had done much for the last several days. She was perfectly happy to sit in the grass and rest. She took a large drink of fresh river water and sighed contentedly. Suddenly Aragorn was next to her.

"Drawing a weapon on a wizard is not smart," he chuckled. "Good thing I was there to stop you. You are far too rash."

Miril shrugged. "He needs to learn respect."

"True," Aragorn agreed. "But not from you."

Miril smirked. "No. From Galmegil."

Drawing her sword, she laughed. Aragorn smiled and shook his head.

"Defend yourself, Aragorn," she insisted.

He sighed dramatically and, with a smile, drew Anduril. The two swords clashed in the night, glittering in the torch light. Miril stepped left and swung at his torso, but Aragorn was ready. He retaliated with his own attemp but she managed to dodge that as well. She swung and he blocked, he swung and she blocked. The metal clashed over and over. Finally, panting, they broke apart.

"A good run," Aragorn nodded. "Maybe your best!"

She grinned. "I've had a good teacher, and plenty of practice."

Gandalf wandered over. "If you two are done, I think it's time for sleep. You're making a lot of noise."

They looked around and realized that people were trying to rest. They sheathed their swords and followed suit. It wasn't until late that night when they were awoken by the shrill cry of a hobbit. The entire camp sprung awake. Gandalf was interrogating Pippin who looked mortified. He was utterly terrified.

Gandalf walked over to Aragorn. "He has looked into the Palantir. I must get him to Minas Tirith."

"Agreed," Aragorn nodded. "Be swift, Mithrandir."

"Will he be alright?" Miril asked Aragorn as Gandalf mounted Shadowfax and Legolas handed him Pippin.

"He should be. But he is in great danger now. He strove with Sauron." Aragorn sighed. "We should get moving as well. This place is no longer safe."


	54. Riders in Grey

Merry rode on the back of Hasufel with Aragorn. The night was dark as they rode forward, Miril beside them and Legolas and Gimli on the other side. King Theoden and Éomer went with them, and their Rohirrim behind. It was several hours later that a man from the back rode forward and brought a warning.

"There is a great company on horseback coming up to us!" He panted. "They are riding hard and will soon overtake us!"

Éomer rode immediately to the back while Aragorn and Miril dismounted to stand on either side of the King. They heard a great halt of hooves and voices.

"Who are you to trespass in Rohan?" Éomer demanded.

"Rohan?" came a familiar voice. "Rohan? At last."

Miril couldn't believe her ears. Was it really him? So far from home?

"Who are you?" asked Éomer.

The man straightened up. "Halbarad Dunedan, Ranger of the North. We seek Aragorn son of Arathorn our brother. We heard he was in need and that we would find him here."

Aragorn cried out in joy. "You have found him!"

Both Miril and Aragorn rushed forward. Halbarad smiled widely when he noticed them and he dismounted. Miril embraced him like a small child.

"Father!" she breathed in his familiar scent. "How come you here?"

Halbarad smiled and embraced Aragorn as well. "We were summoned by Lady Galadriel. Thirty I have with me of the Dunedain, but also the sons of Elrond ride with us."

Miril gaped. She desperately looked around and her eyes fell on the Twins as they led their horses forward. Beside them was Daeroch also, riderless. As Aragorn introduced Halbarad to Theoden and Éomer, she greeted them.

" _Mae govannen, mellon-nín_ ," Elladan smiled. "We brought your horse."

"Hello little one," Elrohir chuckled, dismounting.

Miril raced up to them and kissed Elrohir before pulling him and his brother into a hug. She was crying and laughing at the same time, so overcome with emotion was she.

"Beyond all hope you have come to me," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Truly did I doubt we would meet again."

Elladan laughed. "We told you we'd see each other again."

Elrohir, still reeling from her kiss, noted she bore his brooch. He traced its outline with his finger and smiled at her.

"Why did you doubt, little one?"

She shrugged. "You were very far away."

"That matters not," Elrohir insisted. "We will always be with you."

She rested her head on his chest and breathed in his scent. They would always be there for her. Always.

The company was ordered to mount up and keep moving. Miril pet Daeroch's flank and kissed his nose before pulling herself up onto her horse. Aragorn and Halbarad dropped back to ride with them. It was her family, together again, missing only Eldir her brother. If only he could've been there.

"We decoded the meaning of my dream," Miril spoke to the Twins as Halbarad and Aragorn were engaged in conversation. "And I know now of my ancestry."

The Twins looked at each other, and then her, in surprise. Elladan broke the awkward silence first.

"It was not our wish to keep you from the truth," he said.

His brother agreed. "We were following the wishes of our betters."

"I know," Miril nodded. "And though I wish I had known, there is no use blaming you."

"Now what of the dream," Elladan asked.

Aragorn quickly butted in. "Do not speak of the dream so out in the open."

"Aragorn is right," Halbarad agreed quickly. "Such things must be kept quiet, especially with regards to who you are."

The wind blew Miril's hair out of her face as they rode on. The small family was content to ride in silence for awhile, relishing each other's company. But finally they had to get down to business.

"Aragorn," Elrohir changed the subject. "I bring a message from my father. 'The days are short. If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead.'"

Aragorn grimaced. "Ever are my days short. But I will be very hard pressed before I take that road."

They all agreed in silence.

"What is that you bear, my friend?" Aragorn asked Elladan. For he seemed to be holding a spear with wrapped cloth.

"This is from our sister. It comes with a message. 'The days now are short. Either our hope cometh, or all hopes end. Therefore I send thee what I have made for thee. Fare well, Elfstone.'"

Aragorn nodded in quiet contemplation. "I know now what it is. Bear it for me a while longer, friend."

The night passed them by. Miril rode between Elrohir and her father Halbarad. She felt like everything was right with the world for those few peaceful moments. It was like she was back home in the North, her sole job to hunt down the orcs and protect the Shire's borders. It was all so much simpler then. Now she was caught up in a war. It was an important war, a war she'd give her life for, but a war nonetheless. That was not what she had imagined her life being five years previous. Certainly not.

The moon was low in the sky and the sun just beginning to peep over the horizon when they arrived at the Deeping Coomb outside Helm's Deep. They dismounted and set up camp. They would rest for a few hours and then take counsel. Miril was walking among the Dunedain when she saw her friend.

"Althea!" Miril cried in glee. She ran towards her.

"Mir!" smiled the other woman. 'It is good to see you safe."

They embraced, as two friends will after being parted for long. Indeed they had not seen each other for nearly an entire year despite having grown up and trained with one another.

"Where are you sleeping?" Miril asked her friend.

"I'm with Morwen and Idril. It's already quite tight, I'm afraid." Althea sighed.

"That's alright," nodded Miril. "I'll sleep somewhere else."

"Indeed." Althea smiled. "Sleep well, my friend."

Miril waved goodbye and went to find the Twins. Maybe they had room in their tent. After all, the number of times she had bunked with them in the wild was more than she could count. Indeed she found them more than willing to lend her their tent space.

 


	55. Prophecy

_A darkness settled over the land. Out of the South came a blackness like a cloud, but not a cloud. It was much more alive, free thinking. It was streaked with blue whisps that tangled each other and hungrily lapped at the plants and undergrowth. Every thing it touched, died and evaporated like dust being blown away in a strong wind. The only thing left was coal black rock._

_A child, not much older than five years, stood there. Her back was to Miril. She had dark brown skin and black hair. She raised a hand to the blackness and the blue whisps raced towards her open hand. They engulfed her, consuming her. But instead of wasting away, her eyes changed to a cobalt blue like lapis lazuli and black like night. She turned to face Miril and raised her hand again._

_Miril realized she was holding the Silmaril. As blue needles of power raced towards her, she raised the Silmaril to block the darkness. It caused the blue energy to shatter like glass and rain down to the ground._

_But then, a great monster came up behind the child. A spider, the size of a troll, stalked forward. It lusted for the gem. It wanted it. The girl pointed to the half-elf. The spider moved towards her at tremendous speed. Miril screamed in agony as it bit her hand off, consuming Silmaril and all._

* * *

 

"Shhhh," Elrohir soothed, holding her hand and smoothing his thumb over it.

Miril shot up and panted, glancing around in fear and distress. Her eyes fell on the Twins, both of whom were wide awake now. Tears were in her eyes. She glanced down at her hands. Both were still there. There was no Silmaril. There was no spider. There was no little girl. She was safe. She was with Elladan and Elrohir.

"What was wrong, mellon-nin?" Elladan asked her.

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. Instead she closed her eyes and shook her head.

Elrohir sighed. "A nightmare?"

Miril affirmed their suspicions with a nod.

"What plagued your dreams tonight?" Elladan prompted her.

"The Silmaril was there again. For that is what the gem is," she explained this quickly upon seeing their reaction. "But this time… this time there was only death."

The Twins looked at one another, and then glanced up as the tent flap was opened and Aragorn poked his head in.

"I heard screaming," he said concernedly. "Is everyone alright?"

Miril nodded, sniffling. "I am. I am sorry to have woken you."

Aragorn shook his head. "Nonsense. Do not be sorry."

She put her head on Elrohir's chest and closed her eyes. She breathed in his scent and relaxed a little bit. Her leg hurt and her mind was racing, but having her beloved with her was at least a small comfort amidst the chaos and horror of war.

Elladan left the tent with Aragorn to explain what had happened. Miril allowed herself to drift off to sleep again, her head on Elrohir's chest. The male half-elf smiled a little and ran a hand through her hair to comfort her before he too drifted off to sleep.

Elladan could only smile when he came back and found them asleep. He shook his head and laid down next to his brother. There were a few hours still until dawn and he intended to make the most of them.

When they got up, Miril was nowhere to be found. Evidently she had already gotten up. Indeed, she was found wandering beneath the two great burial mounds, a forlorn look on her face as she knelt below one and closed her eyes. She bowed her head in silence. It was Halbarad who found her there.

"Did you lose a friend?" he asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged. "Three young men, boys almost, were fighting at my side. All perished. I should've saved them."

"That is the cost of war. It is not pretty, but sooner or later all men must die. It is inevitable," Halbarad reminded her of the universal truth for Men.

She sighed. "So you have taught me, and so I have seen for myself. But it makes it no easier. What if I were to lose you?"

"Someday you will," Halbarad nodded. "And you will go on. You will fulfill whatever destiny has been appointed for you, and you will keep me alive in your heart."

Miril nodded and closed her eyes before reopening them and standing up. She accepted her father's embrace before they walked back to the main camp together. Aragorn, Theoden, Éomer, Legolas, Gimli, and the Sons of Elrond were about to take counsel together before the ride.

"How long will it take to reach Dunharrow," Aragorn asked the King as they stood by the horses, ready to get moving.

Éomer spoke, "Three days, and the muster shall be held on the fourth. No sooner can we make it, if the full strength of Rohan is to be amassed."

"Three days," Aragorn muttered. "Three days and it will only begin. Though I see now it can go no faster."

The company looked and watched with anticipation as Aragorn made up his mind about something. At last he spoke again.

"Very well." He sighed. "I shall take the Paths of the Dead."

"Why do you speak of such," Theoden cried. "The Paths are cursed. The dead keep it!"

"I had hoped we would fight again together," Éomer sighed, "but if you take that path, I fear this is farewell."

"We will meet again in battle, Éomer! Do not think otherwise. Nonetheless this is the path I must take." Aragorn sighed. "I hope Legolas and Gimli will hunt with me and my kin awhile still."

They nodded quickly.

"Then we must be off," Theoden sighed. "Farewell, Aragorn son of Arathorn. May the gods watch over your travels."

"Farewell." Aragorn knelt then in front of Merry. "And farewell to you, my friend. We must part again, though we leave you in better company this time around."

"Good bye," Merry frowned. "And good luck."

The Rohirrim and the hobbit mounted their horses and set off towards Dunharrow by way of the mountain paths. Aragorn and the Grey Company would take swifter paths, and not stop at Edoras on their way to Dunharrow, and ultimately, the Paths of the Dead.

"Well my friends," Aragorn sighed. "Let us eat and then be off."

While they ate, Aragorn revealed to them that he had used the Orthanc stone. He had looked in the Palantir and revealed himself to Sauron, striking fear into the enemy's black heart. He hoped this would aid their efforts.

Aragorn at last rose from his seat at the table. "We ride in twenty."


	56. Old Friends

As they rode on, Miril started in the front with Aragorn, Halbarad, and the Twins. But soon enough she dropped back to find Althea, Idril, and Morwen. They were the only female rangers in the company of thirty, and all friends of hers. Female rangers, while not as uncommon as female warriors in the south, wasn't extremely common. Morwen and Idril were younger than Althea and Miril, but still capable warriors in their own right.

"Hello, Mir," Althea smiled as the half-elf dropped back to them. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough," she lied as she didn't feel like going into her nightmare. "Morwen, Idril, how have you two been? It's been too long since I've seen you."

Morwen, never one to smile much, merely shrugged. "Alright. I have been busy guarding the Shire since you left. The hobbits are a strange folk. They gave me the nickname 'Frowner' in Bree."

Miril laughed. "Don't worry. They call me 'Pointy Ears' and Aragorn is 'Strider'."

"This is true," Idril giggled. "They call me 'Fleet-foot' because I'm so fast."

It was true. Idril was one of the fastest people Miril had ever met. She could even contend with elves with her speed. She simply glided over the grass and sticks and leaves of the forest. And, Idril was an excellent bow shot.

Morwen, on the other hand, was the opposite. Her abilities were her muscle and strength and sword-play. She was a lousy shot, but her tracking was decent and she rivaled Halbarad, and Miril, in swordsmanship, which was definitely a tough feat to accomplish.

"Have you improved your bow accuracy any, Morwen?" Miril teased tthe younger woman.

Morwen rolled her get eyes and pushed her horse forward into a different group of Dunedain. Miril objected, apologizing with a chuckle.

"Oh come now," Althea laughed softly. "Twas all in good fun, Mor. Come back!"

The woman with dark, nearly black, hair sighed and allowed herself to drop back and rejoin the other women. Miril apologized again. She was sincerely sorry.

"So, what's between you and the younger Twin?" Idril asked, teasing Miril this time around. "You two seem… close."

"Indeed," Althea grinned, pointing to the brooch Miril had attempted to tuck under her cloak. "What is that you bear?"

Miril blushed. "It is nothing."

Morwen huffed and reached over, pulling the cloak away to reveal the crest of Elrohir. "Twas just as I thought, my friends!"

Idril gasped. "Are you two…"

"Yes." Miril shrugged it off like it was nothing.

Idril and Althea laughed and Morwen actually cracked a smile. They all remembered the days when the Twins would visit with Miril or Halbarad or Aragorn. Everyone liked them.

"Have you and Bregon become betrothed yet, Idril?" Miril asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Oh Eru, not this," Morwen cried.

This question had the intended effect as immediately Idril leapt into an account of her and her beloved's plans for marriage. For indeed they had become betrothed several months prior. Evidently Morwen, often Idril's partner despite their starkly different personalities, had heard the discussion before.

The women talked for quite awhile before Miril finally decided to head back up to the front. When she arrived there, Aragorn turned to her.

"I heard Morwen's exclamation from here," he chuckled. "What was that about?"

"Idril started discussing her marriage plans," explained Miril with a laugh. "Apparently Morwen had heard it all many times before."

Halbarad shook his head. "I trained Morwen myself. I will never understand why she and Idril are such good friends. They're vastly different!"

Indeed, they were quite different. Morwen was stern and stoic, but loyal to a fault. Idril was more carefree. She enjoyed life and saw the goodness in everyone. But she also was as scary as a Nazgul when angry.

"Who trained Idril?" Aragorn asked. "I remember her more vaguely than Morwen."

"Calenglad up in Tinnudir," replied Halbarad. "Morwen and Idril were then both placed under Althea's command about eight years ago."

"Ah, so that is how I know her then," Aragorn nodded. "And I assume you met Idril through Althea, Miril?"

She nodded affirmatively. "Yes. I visited Althea's company many times."

They dropped into silence for awhile. The terrain passed by as they rode on. Miril was glad to be atop Daeroch once more, though Tor had been a good horse. Aragorn, also, had been brought his horse Roheryn. Now that both had their faithful steeds, Hasufel and Tor had been returned to the Rohirrim. Only Legolas and Gimli's temporary horse, Arod, remained with them.

It was late into the night when Aragorn called a halt. They would sleep under the stars tonight and arrive at Dunharrow and the Paths of the Dead the next day. Aragorn ordered the tents put up and placed Morwen, Idril, Halbarad, and Calenglad on guard. Elladan and Elrohir stayed up long as Miril told them the tale of her visions in the Mirror of Galadriel and the meaning behind her dreams. She spoke of her nightmare the night before as well.

Elladan contemplated all the news he had received. "Evidently the threat comes from the South. Perhaps Harad?"

"That makes the most sense," Elrohir agreed. "Umbar and the Corsairs have always threatened the free peoples of Gondor."

"What of the spider, though?" Miril asked in concern. "And the strange girl."

"I'm afraid I do not know," Elladan shrugged. "Perhaps when all this is over, we may consult our father."

With a nod, Miril grew quiet. It was all quite a strange business that was for sure. She had very little idea what to make of it all. But for now she supposed she should focus on what she'd have to face tomorrow: the Paths of the Dead. She would need nerves of steel to face that place. The Paths of the Dead were a deadly place, but she knew of the prophecy that Aragorn was relying on to get them through it. She would place her faith in Aragorn. If anyone could command those spirits to let them through, it was him, Elessar Heir of Isildur.

Nothing happened that night, and the company awoke in the morning to clear skies and a bright sunrise. They packed up the tents and mounted their horses after a quick breakfast. It was time to get moving if they were to reach Dunharrow by midday.


	57. The Dead Keep It

When the company reached Dunharrow, it was midday. They were halted by a rider of Rohan.

"Who goes there?" he shouted.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn and his kin."

A woman appeared, her hair golden blonde and skin pale like a white rose. She had a sword in her hand but she lowered it upon seeing Aragorn.

"Lords, you are welcome here! Come!" Eowyn nodded and gestured for them to head into the camp of Rohirrim.

Eowyn's eyes passed over all the riders and looked on them in amazement. Truly they were magnificent. Battle hardened, worn by the wilds of the North, the Dunedain were certainly a sight to behold. They dismounted and walked their horses into the ancient fastness of Dunharrow.

"Let us rest here the night, lady, if you will," Aragorn asked Eowyn as they ate lunch together.

"Of course my Lord! But will you not stay for the muster?" she asked in confusion. "Surely that is why you have come."

"Nay," Aragorn shook his head. "I have come here for my path lies here."

"But no paths lead out of the mountains save the one you came on," Eowyn pointed out.

"There is another." Aragorn sighed. "We are to take the Paths of the Dead."

Eowyn's face was filled with dread. She dropped the spoon she had been holding. She looked around at the others, at Miril, Halbarad, Legolas, Gimli, and the Twins. But they all nodded their heads.

Eowyn wiped her hands on her cloth napkin. "Then surely you seek death!"

"No." Aragorn shook his head. "We shall pass through. We leave in the morning."

With the meal finished, the table dispersed. Dinner went similarly several hours later, and night came. The company had a restless sleep as everyone ancipated and feared for the next day. Legolas alone was unafraid, for he had no concept of mortality to compare the dead to. Death was not a fear for him save in battle.

In the morning, Eowyn again tried to sway them from leaving but each was adamant. She gave Aragorn a knowing look, as if they had talked the previous night alone. No other Rider was to be seen as they passed, leading their horses behind them.

Aragorn's will was so strong as they approached the evil entrance that even the horses felt courage enough to go on. Indeed, the horses ridden by the Dunedain feel great love for their masters. The entrance of the cavern system was dark, foreboding. Aragorn went in first, followed by the Sons of Elrond and Halbarad.

Miril was next. She felt the evil of that place like it was tangible. She inched forward, holding the reins of Daeroch in her left hand and in her right she gripped the sheathed hilt of Galmegil, her sword. But she moved forward. The others followed her hesitantly.

The cave system smelled of dust and dirt and death. It was very dark, almost pitch black. Miril could barely make out what was around her. She felt rather than saw that Elrohir walked beside her. They went two by two with Aragorn leading them, his sword Anduril out. Suddenly a torch was lit by Aragorn and he handed another to Elladan.

"Take the rear guard," he told the twin. "Give a torch to Althea in the middle and Calenglad too."

Elladan nodded and took the flaming torch to the back. Now that there was some light, Miril jumped. The wall beside her was lined with skulls. It was as if a whisper of words was around her, but if she concentrated on trying to decipher them, they faded from hearing.

The company continued on for an indeterminate amount of time. The path had been wide, but suddenly the entered into a very large, open chamber. In the torch light, something glittered far in the middle. Aragorn handed his torch to Halbarad and strode forward. Miril wanted to call out to him, for him to halt. She felt so overwhelmed by fear she even considered bolting. Miril jumped when Elrohir laid a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, sensing her fear that he too shared to a certain extent.

Aragorn knelt beside the glittering object that she now identified as a skeleton wearing ancient armor. Aragorn whispered something before suddenly he shouted.

"Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years! Speed only we ask. Let us pass, and then come! I summon you to the Stone of Erech!'

Silence followed. A wind whistled through the chamber, putting out the torches. Miril felt gripped with such a palpable fear that she stumbled slightly when she started to walk forward again. An hour, perhaps, or more they walked on. No torch would kindle, so they had no light. They relied on their senses for direction. Elrohir continued to hold Miril's left arm to comfort her. But despite her fear she walked on, following Halbarad, leading both his and his leader's horse, who followed Aragorn.

Eventually they heard the trickle of water, and saw light coming from up ahead. Miril felt warmed by the sight and grew slightly bolder. She walked more confidently until she had passed out of the Path completely.

They mounted up and she hugged Daeroch's neck. She whispered some elvish words in his ear, words of thanks and comfort. She followed the company forward.

"The dead are following," she faintly heard Legolas say as he, Gimli, and Elladan rode up to the front. "I can see them behind us. They are following!"

"Comforting," muttered Miril.

"Yes they are," Elladan nodded. "They have been summoned."

"We must ride with all haste," Aragorn shouted to the company. "We must reach the Stone of Erech 'ere this day ends!"

So they rode like hunters on a scent. They drove their horses hard, so that they were stumbling wth weariness by the end. Whenever they passed houses and towns, women and men cried out and shut their doors and windows in fear.

But at last they came upon it. They came to the Stone of Erech. Round like a globe, though the bottom was hidden in the ground, the stone had been brought out of Numenor by Elendil.

"Oathbreakers!" Aragorn shouted. "Why have you come?"

A whisper was heard on the wind. "To fulfill our oath and have peace."

"I will free you from your oath when all this land is free of the Servants of Sauron! You will follow me, as once you were sworn to do for my ancestors!"

Aragorn turned to Halbarad and nodded. He unfurled the standard he had borne from Rivendell and the lady Arwen. No one could see what was on it because of the darkness.

"Let us rest now," said Aragorn. "We must ride hard again tomorrow."

And so they pitched their tents and tried to rest, but few slept for the unease of having the spirits around them.


	58. The Battle Begins

They awoke in the morning and began the multi-day ride to the ports on the Bay of Belfalas. It was an uneventful ride, other than the still palpable unease from the Dead. After two days, they reached their destination and they engaged the enemy ships.

"Fulfill your oath!" Aragorn shouted to the Dead.

Immediately the ghosts materialized and flooded forward onto the ships of the Corsairs of Umbar. Every last corsair was killed. Aragorn shouted something else, releasing the Dead from their oaths and allowing them peace.

"Board the ships," Aragorn ordered the Grey Company. "We make for the Pelennor Fields with all haste."

After about an hour, the ships reached the Pelennor Fields. Halbarad unfurled the banner of Aragorn. Suddenly the all realized what it was: wrote in mithril were seven stars around a white tree.

Miril cried out a challenge in elvish as she rode forward off the boat, her shining blade Galmegil eager for blood. Thousands of orcs and Men of the south and east were on the battle field. Nazgul circled in the air atop their fell beasts, their shadows causing men to feel chilled and frightened whenever they passed over. Blood stained the once green grass and horse hooves kicked up dirt. Broken weapons and reeking bodies were everywhere.

Miril whispered encouragement to Daeroch as she pushed forward. She became separated from her father and Aragorn, but the Twins were to either side of her as she drove forward. She hacked at her enemies to her left and right and instructed her horse to trample any on the ground. She was thirsty for revenge for her brother and for Boromir, and for Frodo and Sam wherever they were.

"Do not stray too far ahead, mellon-nin!" Elladan called over to her. "Do not be reckless!"

Elrohir laughed. "You know as well as I do that that is impossible to ask of Miril Lominzil!"

Miril nodded and smirked as she plunged her sword deep into an orc's chest. But then something altogether unexpected happened. An arrow flew through the air and met its mark. Daeroch fell to the ground, neck spouting blood. Miril was thrown to the ground, doing all she could to avoid her own sword as she fell.

"Daeroch, no!" she shouted as she picked herself up. "No!"

But the grey horse, her beautiful, precious stallion, was dead. And now she was angry. Her face flushed red with rage as she drew her sword up and glared at the orc archer that was nearby.

Miril gritted her teeth and stalked forward. "You should not have done that, servant of Mordor!"

The orc quailed and tried desperately to notch another arrow on his string but Miril was too fast. She took out her carving knife and threw it straight into the orc's throat. Now it was just her and her enemies, on the ground, no Twins in sight. She supposed it was fortunate that she was amidst the orcs and not the Haradrim or Easterling soldiers. Orcs were easier to manage than men.

She stalked forward and cut down the nearest orc before swinging behind her and stabbing a second one in the abdomen. An arrow whistled past her and she spotted the orc a ways away. Definitely too far for a throwing knife. Just as the orc readied another arrow, a Rohirrim warrior swept up and skewered him. Rohan was here!

There were no more enemies around her so she bent down beside her horse's body and allowed herself a moment of weeping. But she knew the battle was imminent and she stood, still hot with rage, and wiped her sword on her cloak. She walked forward with a purpose, blood streaked across her face from the cut on her brow from when she'd been thrown off Daeroch. She wiped the blood from her eyes and carried on.

She noted that not far ahead of her, the standard of Aragorn was flying. That meant Halbarad was ahead, as well, for he was Aragorn's standard bearer. Miril ran forward to join her father. She found him surrounded by Haradrim. Their dark faces glistened with sweat and blood. She cringed as she engaged the enemy. These men were much more skilled than the orcs. Orcs were like fodder compared to these highly trained soldiers.

"Die you servants of Sauron," Miril cried, hacking at the Haradrim. "Taste my blade."

She finally reached her father. He nodded to her and spoke.

"Glad you could make it," he grunted as he fended off another huge man.

She shrugged. "Figured there are plenty to go around."

They became separated for a moment as a Haradrim warrior swung between them with his great scimitar. They both barely escaped in time. Halbarad engaged an even larger warrior while Miril finished him off.

They were just finishing off the last few when it happened. Halbarad parried but another Haradrim warrior came up behind him and stabbed him clean through the stomach. Miril screamed. It was like the cry of a banshee. Elladan and Elrohir, spotting the two Dunedain, came riding over. But it was of no use. The damage had been done.

"No!" Miril screamed, forgetting about the few Haradrim left around her.

Elladan and Elrohir reached her and defended the Dunedan woman as she knelt beside her dying father. She clutched his bloodied hand and whispered 'no' over and over and over.

"Stay with me," she whispered. "Stay with me, father."

Halbarad weakly smiled. "I cannot. I love you, my child. I always have and always will, forever and ever."

"I love you too," she sobbed. "Please don't leave me like my brother. Please don't leave me alone!"

"You are not alone," he coughed. "You have other family. You have the Twins and Aragorn."

"But," she stuttered through her tears. "No! Don't go!"

Halbarad's grip on her hand faltered as he breathed his last. She screamed in anger and hatred and despair as her last remaining family member was cruelly stolen from her by the servants of Sauron.

Elrohir looked around quickly. They were being surrounded. He grabbed Miril and threw her onto his horse as he leapt up behind her. She reached out and grabbed the standard of Aragorn through her tears. She would finish what her father started.


	59. The Second of Nine

Elrohir and Elladan reached the top of a hillock and met with Aragorn and Éomer. Miril, still with tears flowing down her face mixing with the dried blood on her hands and face, gripped the Standard of Aragorn in one hand and her sword in the other. They dismounted beside the two warriors.

"We meet again, my friends," Éomer said. "Beyond hope. Though much ruin has come this day. Lord Théoden has fallen!"

Miril looked at him, eyes hard a stone. She nodded and looked at Aragorn who noted at once that she bore the standard. He saw on her face, tear lines, and her hands were dark red with blood.

"He has perished, then," he murmured. "Halbarad met his doom here, just as he foresaw."

Miril refused to respond with more than a curt nod. Elrohir placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I will bear the standard now," she finally said. "I will finish what my father started."

Aragorn, a tear slipping down his cheek, nodded. "Then let us fight. Fight so that neither his death nor King Théoden's was in vain!"

Miril insisted Elrohir leave her on the ground. He responded by saying that he too, then, would fight on foot beside her. Elladan frowned but insisted on joining them. It was then that finally Aragorn, Miril, Éomer, Elladan, and Elrohir fought as one on the battlefield. Their enemies fled before the rage in their eyes. For all had lost dear friends that day. But in the end there was yet more damage to be done. For she had made an awful mistake. She had said something in her rage that would be her undoing.

A great winged creature circled around them. Miril had become separated from the group in the fray and fought with sword and standard. She was angry. She was furious.

"Flee before the descendant of Fëanor!" She shouted yet again, not heeding the cry of the fell beast far above her.

But she had little choice when it landed before her on the ground. She was knocked down by the force of the wind that the wings of the beast created. She stared in horror at its ugly face. It was black, just like the figure that rode atop it.

"The Eye demands your death, child of Fire," spoke the Nazgûl. "You are to be extinguished."

Miril stood up and plunged the Standard of Aragorn into the ground. She fastened her grip on Galmegil.

"Your master will learn to fear the Spirit of Fire yet again, foul creature," she shouted, rage still hot within her. "You will pay for the death of my brother and my father!"

The Nazgûl laughed. "You are but a child. I am Khamul. Second of the Nine."

He ordered his fell beast forward but Miril stabbed it in the eye and it reared, throwing the Nazgûl off its back. The Fellbeast fled back, cowering in the face of her shining sword. But she still had the Nazgûl to deal with. He had stood up and was approaching her now, dark sword out and ready for a duel.

Miril stalked forward towards him. She held up Galmegil, ancient sword of Valinor. It was the Sword of Light against the Sword of Darkness. As they clashed, a piercing ring of steel on steel was let out. She ducked as the Nazgûl swung at her neck. In return she tried to stab him, but he was too quick with his sidestep.

They were evenly matched, Nazgûl and Ranger. Miril was growing tired, her arms aching from all the fighting she had done that day. She was growing sloppy. And it would cost her.

Miril swung her sword and managed to knock the Nazgûl's blade from his hand, but dropped her own in turn. Khamul the Easterling, second in command of the Nazgûl of Sauron, had other tricks up his sleeve. He reached forward, gripping Miril by the neck. He lifted her up off the ground. She kicked, struggling to break free. She felt a chill creeping from her neck up to her face and down to her chest.

And then it stopped. A piercing scream was let out. Miril fell to the ground. She could barely focus as Elrohir, Galmegil in hand, raced to her side. The Nazgûl was nowhere to be seen and Elladan was finishing off the Fellbeast. Her eyes closed and she passed out, a chill over her entire body.

"Mir!" Elrohir cried, kneeling beside her. "Little one, come back to me."

He leaned over and listened for breathing. He sighed in relief when it was there but he knew he had little time. The battle was all but over; Gondor was victorious. But they had to Miril to the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.

"Brother! She is deathly ill," Elrohir called to where Elladan had just finished with the monstrous Fellbeast.

Elladan nodded and picked up the standard of Aragorn. "We need to get her to Aragorn quickly."

"Are you injured, sirs," someone called out a top a horse, his colors blue and white with a swan upon them. "We have extra horses!"

"Our comrade needs healing immediately!' Elrohir raced over to him. "Who are we to thank for this help?"

"Prince Imrahil is my name, Lord of Dol Amroth," said the man. "Aragorn sent me out to find you."

They thanked him and mounted two horses, Elrohir holding Miril and Elladan carrying the banner. The four rode with all speed back to Minas Tirith. Elrohir could feel the life fading from Miril's body. It was a race against time.

When they reached the city gates, Aragorn was not there. They left the standard of Aragorn with the Dunedain with orders that it be furled back up. Imrahil led the brothers into the White City and through its many gates up to the Houses of Healing.

"Aragorn is within. Eowyn and the hobbit took deathly ill like your friend. He is with them." Imrahil dismounted his steed. "Follow me."

He led the Twins inside, Elrohir with the dying Miril in his arms. He didn't want to think about what might happen should she die. Besides his own feelings towards her, she was also needed to fulfill a prophecy to hopefully defeat more evil within Middle Earth.

A woman stopped them. "Who are you to enter the Houses of Healing?"

"Our friend needs healing from the newcomer who is within," Elladan insisted.

Imrahil added his authority. "Allow them to pass. Upon my authority as Prince of Dol Amroth."

The woman bowed quickly and looked at them quizzically as they passed but said no more. When they reached the inner part of the Houses of Healing, the scent of Athelas filled the air and they relaxed a slight bit. The three men spotted Aragorn and raced over. He looked up in surprise and then his face blanched upon seeing Miril's pale, deathly white complexion.

"She confronted Khamul the Easterling," Elladan explained quietly. "He gripped her throat before we could find her."

"Lay her down," he ordered immediately. "I must work quickly.


	60. Hands of a Healer

**"The Hands of the King are the Hands of a Healer"**

 

_Darkness was all Miril was experiencing. A profound, palpable darkness that crept into her throat and stopped her from speaking. It made it hard to breathe, hard to think. Where was she? Who was she? What was she?_

Aragorn closed his eyes. He was exhausted. But he would not lose both Halbarad and Miril in the same day. He had a chance to save one of them. He would take it.

_She felt cold fingers around her neck. They threatened to crush her throat. A chill spread down her throat to her chest and lungs and heart. She felt like snow was being packed around her. She felt like ice was being forced down her throat. What was happening to her?_

Aragorn placed a hand on her forehead and the other on her chest just below her throat. He said some prayers and strove with the darkness deep within his friend. He felt the chill, felt the blackness like tar clouding her vision and her breathing.

_"Miril!"_

_She thought she heard a cry, someone familiar calling her name, calling her back. But she could not place it. She was still unable to speak, even in her mind. She was restrained by the chill darkness. It grabbed her and threatened to pull her down into oblivion. What was going on?_

Aragorn looked inside her mind and tried to reach his friend. She was fading quickly. Miril had very little time left. Few survived direct contact with a wraith, especially one of the Nine. But he tried again.

_"Miril! It is Aragorn!"_

_Aragorn! That was a name she knew. Something deep inside her brightened up. Aragorn. That name had meaning. That name was familiar. What was that name?_

Aragorn could tell he was getting closer to her. She hadn't responded audibly, but the darkness had lifted ever so slightly at the name he'd spoken. He kept trying.

_"Miril!"_

_She knew that name! That was her name! And she knew the other name as well..._

_"Aragorn?"_

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief as the darkness lifted from her. The chill he could feel was slowly warming, and the cloud over her vision and thought was dispersing. He knew one last thing to help her.

_"Auta í lómë, aurë entuluva!"_

Aragorn sat back as Miril gasped for breath, though her eyes were still closed. She coughed a sputtered as of one who was drowning and now comes above water. Elladan and Elrohir, Imrahil, and Ioreth the healer all breathed a sigh of relief. Aragorn was exhausted now. He could do no more for any of his patients today.

"I'm going back out to where the Rohirrim and Dunedain are setting camp," Aragorn whispered to Elladan and Elohir. "You are welcome to stay if you wish."

"I shall," Elrohir said immediately.

Elladan nodded. "I will as well."

"Prince Imrahil, please take command of the city. With Denethor dead and Faramir incapacitated, you are next in line," Aragorn told the Prince of Dol Amroth.

Imrahil bowed. "Of course my Lord."

Both men left the Houses of Healing then. The half-elven twins sat next to each other on an empty cot. Beside Miril were three other persons. First was Merry Brandybuck, one of the hobbits of the Fellowship. Next to him was Eowyn, sister of Éomer. Finally there was a man neither twin had ever met. He had light brown hair in curls down to his shoulders. He looked peaceful as he rested.

"At least the color is returning to her face," Elrohir remarked as he looked at Miril. "What was she thinking, taking on a Nazgûl and his Fellbeast, on her own, after hours and hours of fighting?"

Elladan sighed and shrugged. "She is too rash. I fear it was the death of Halbarad that caused her to lose all her senses."

"It was foolish," Elrohir muttered. "Did she mean to get herself killed?"

Elladan didn't answer at first but finally spoke. "I do not think so. But she forgot that she was important, I would say. She forgot people cared. She was so overcome with anger and rage that all thought of love left her mind."

Suddenly a man in white entered the room. It was Gandalf and behind him went Pippin. They walked over quickly.

"Is Merry alright?" Pippin asked immediately, before seeing that Miril was injured as well. "Miril's here, too?"

Gandalf looked surprised. "Miril? What happened to her. I did not see it."

"Khamul, second of the nine, laid hands on her," Elladan explained. "They sparred for awhile before he managed to catch her. But my brother vanquished him with Galmegil."

Gandalf nodded and caught sight of the sword in Elrohir's belt. "She will want it back."

Elrohir huffed. "She does not deserve it back if she is going to be so foolish all the time. She's going to get herself killed, Mithrandir. You know it as much as I."

"Perhaps," Gandalf nodded. "But that is not for us to hinder. It is her destiny, whatever happens."

"Who is the other, Mithrandir?" asked Elladan. "The man on the end?"

"Faramir, now Steward of Gondor," the wizard replied. "Do not fret, sons of Elrond. The sick should awaken soon enough. Stay with them. I will send for Éomer for he should be here when his sister wakens."

Gandalf turned to where a young boy, twelve years old maybe, sat watching them. "Bergil! Find Lord Éomer and bring him to the Houses."

"Of course, my Lord!" He leapt up and ran out the door.

It was Merry who woke first. Pippin was there at his side and they spoke for awhile of many things. Aragorn, eager to make sure his work was coming to fruition, arrived alongside Éomer once more, not long after.

Éowyn was next. She and her brother spoke long about why she had come and what had befallen their uncle, Théoden. They thanked Aragorn, too, for his healing.

Finally Miril began to move. Her finger's twitched, and she reached out on her bed. The Twins were there before a moment's notice. Aragorn, too, quickly came beside her as she slowly opened her eyes.

"...Ada?" she whispered slowly, incoherently.

All that understood the elvish she had spoken went silent in sadness. For Adar was the elvish word for "father". But he's was gone.

She looked around more quickly, and her eyes rested on Elladan, Elrohir, and Aragorn. She realized then why they were silent.

"Alas," she murmured. "He is gone. I had forgotten."

"But you are not!" Elrohir reminded her, grabbing her hand. "You foolish woman."

Aragorn knelt beside her and felt her brow. It was warm, but in a healthy way. It was no longer chilled. He nodded in satisfaction.

"Where am I?" she asked, trying to sit up.

Elladan helped her sit as Gandalf, coming over, answered her question. "You are in Minas Tirith's Houses of Healing. Aragorn has healed you of the Shadow."

"Oh. So that is what happened," she muttered. "All I remember is blackness, and a freezing chill. Also, a hand like ice around my throat."

And so the Twins filled her in on what had happened as they sat there in the Houses of Healing. Aragorn, after embracing his adopted niece, left them again followed by Gandalf and Éomer. Eowyn and Merry had both fallen back asleep, but Pippin insisted on hearing what had befallen them in battle so he stayed behind.


	61. Conversation After Dark

Miril found herself alone. The Twins had left and returned to sleep outside the city where Aragorn was. The other patients were asleep. Pippin had gone to his bed. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen and Éomer and Imrahil were with their people.

She sighed audibly and reached up to brush away a hair from her eye.

"Can you not sleep?"

Miril turned to find Faramir awake. They had not spoken yet but he seemed nice enough from what she'd heard Gandalf say of him. He had also seemed to recognize Aragorn immediately as the rightful king upon meeting him. That was a plus in her mind. As steward it would be his voice that most people would listen to.

"Nay," she shook her head. "I cannot. Much has befallen this day and I am still not sure how to react or even what to think."

Faramir rose from his cot and walked over, struggling slightly, to where she was. He sat on the bed across from her and nodded.

"I understand what you mean." He looked thoughtful. "I lost much yesterday."

"I as well," she agreed.

They sat silently, each lost in thought, neither eager to interrupt the other. But finally Faramir spoke up, a question on his mind.

"You are like Aragorn? You are a Dunedain of the North?" he asked, his head cocked to the side in question.

She nodded. "Indeed. I was raised among both them and the elves. My parents were both Dunedain, one a half-elf like me. Why do you ask?"

Faramir smiled. "If you are even half Aragorn, Gondor is lucky to have you as a friend and ally. Are you a healer also?"

"No," she shook her head. "Not like Aragorn, anyway. I know basic herb lore and battle triage. You must when you live in the wild. But Aragorn is special."

"Truly," Faramir nodded in agreement.

Silence followed once more. It was Miril who broke it this time. She had many questions for this Southern ranger.

"What brought you to the Healing Houses?" Miril asked him.

Faramir sighed. "A Southron dart. Poisoned. And you, lady?"

She closed her eyes, memories of the darkness suddenly flooding back into her mind. She subconsciously put a hand to her neck where her skin was now slightly discolored. It was lighter in the shape of a handprint. Whether this was permanent or no, even Aragorn did not have an answer.

Faramir took her silence hard, "I'm sorry, I did not mean-"

"No, it is alright," she shook her head. "It is simply painful to think. I was touched by one of the Nine. The shadow overtook me."

Faramir nodded and his eyes wandered to the sword beside her bed. He marveled at its beauty, the shining mithril hilt reflecting even the slight bit of candle light in the room.

"Your blade, I presume?" He gestured to it.

She looked at it in surprise, noticing it for the first time since she'd awoken and found the Twins gone.

"Indeed. Galmegil is its name." She shook her head. "Frankly I am surprised Elrohir left it. I did not think he would let me touch it ever again."

"What metal is the hilt of," Faramir asked her. "I have never seen its like!"

"It is Mithril. Moria Silver, as the dwarves used to call it." She gripped it and handed it to Faramir. "See how light?"

"Indeed!" Faramir nodded and felt the hilt with his hands. "Hard as steel, though. Where was it crafted?"

She smiled ruefully. "A difficult question to answer. Have you heard of Valinor? The Uttermost West?"

"Yes."

Miril nodded. "The greatest Elvish craftsman ever, Fëanor of the Noldor, crafted it. It came into the hands of Lady Galadriel who then gave it to me."

"Incredible," he nodded, handing Galmegil back to his master. "Truly a story worthy of song."

"So far it had vanquished a Nazgûl and slain hundreds of orcs." Miril smiled proudly. "I hope it lives up to its name as the Sword of Light. I want to expel evil from this world."

"Certainly a worthy pursuit."

They both smiled and went silent, content with their own thoughts. Truly the two patients were more similar than they realized. Both had recently lost a father, both were rangers (one of the North, one of the South), and both had lost their brothers. Also both were destined to serve Aragorn Elessar, though in differing ways.

"Did you know my brother," Faramir asked, quietly, at length.

Miril was caught off guard by the question. "For a short while. Why?"

Faramir shrugged and silence followed. Finally he spoke again.

"You lost your father today, did you not?" he asked softly, not looking at her at first.

She closed her eyes and a tear dripped down her face. "Indeed."

"What was his name?" Faramir asked her.

She looked at him sadly. "Halbarad, second of the Dunedain."

"Halbarad," Faramir repeated. "I will keep him in my mind. His sacrifice for Gondor will not be forgotten, I assure you this."

She nodded quickly. "It is appreciated."

Miril felt for the brooch of her beloved and outlined it subconsciously with her fingertips. Faramir watched her curiously.

"What is that, lady?" he asked her.

"Hm?" Miril looked at him in confusion before realizing what he meant. "This? It is the Brooch of Elrohir."

Faramir nodded. "It is beautiful, for sure."

Miril yawned and Faramir gave a small smile. They both knew they should get rest. Aragorn would surely be in here to tell them so tomorrow. And if not him, Ioreth the Nursemaid certainly would. In fact, both patients were surprised no one had come in yet to stop their conversing.

"Do you think we will defeat Sauron?" Faramir asked her as he stood up to return to his cot.

Miril sighed. "I do not know. It depends on the hobbits. If they cannot find a way, no one will. We must trust in the Valar that good will triumph. My father always used to tell me that. And it is true."

"Do you have hope?" He asked her.

She closed her eyes and sighed, reopening them upon her answer. "Every day, my hope diminishes. But yes. With Aragorn at the head, I do have hope."


	62. Meeting of Commanders

_**We are the heroes of our time** _

_**But we're dancing with the demons in our minds.** _

_**We are the heroes of our time.** _

_**Heroes.** _

_**\- Heroes by Måns Zelmerlöw** _

 

Aragorn called a meeting of the commanders that next day. Miril, overhearing Faramir talking to Prince Imrahil about it, decided she would go too.

"Oh no you aren't," Legolas shook his head.

Gimli agreed. "You, lass, are supposed to stay right here."

The two friends had come up in the city to visit Merry, Pippin, and herself. But Miril had absolutely no intention of missing the meeting.

"I am going, and you cannot stop me," Miril glared, pulling herself up and out of bed.

She wobbled only slightly and bit her lip in concentration. Legolas and Gimli looked at her skeptically but did not object again as she strapped Galmegil onto her belt.

"Are you sure it is wise," Faramir asked, trying to hide a soft smile.

Miril glared at him. "Do not try to stop me."

He threw his hands in the air. "I will not. But I wish I was there if only to see the look on Lord Aragorn's face when you come wobbling in."

Legolas smirked. "Actually, I would be more worried about what the Sons of Elrond will say."

Miril muttered something incoherent and walked forward a few steps. She balanced successfully and nodded. She could do this.

"Come, my friends. Let us go." She gestured to the door.

Imrahil, Legolas, and Gimli shook their heads but followed her. The Prince of Dol Amroth offered her his arm and, to the surprise of the two others, she accepted it. If that wasn't proof of how not well she was, then they didn't know what would be.

The streets of Minas Tirith were white and grey stone with stone buildings on either side. Children ran and played in the streets and women and men tended to business. But when Imrahil, Miril, Legolas, and Gimli passed by, all stopped and stared. Boys would point to the swords and weapons they bore while girls watched Miril in amazement, or fawned over Prince Imrahil.

It took about twenty five minutes of walking before they reached the broken gates of the city. Miril decided to walk _behind_ the others until she was firmly within the meeting. Then Aragorn would _have_ to allow her to stay. Or that's what she was banking on, anyway.

"Ah, there you are," Éomer nodded as they came over. "Aragorn and the Sons of Elrond are already inside. Let's go."

They ducked inside a large tent and found Aragorn crouching by a map that was laid out on the ground. The Twins stood looking down at it but glanced up when the others came in.

"Miril?!" Elladan groaned. "What in Elbereth's name are you doing here?"

Aragorn's head immediately shot up and he spotted Miril as she stumbled out from behind Imrahil and Legolas. She at least had the decency to downcast her eyes.

"Miril Lominzil," Aragorn sighed, putting his face in his hands. "What in the Valars' names are you doing out of bed?!"

"You called a meeting of the Commanders. Last I checked, when Halbarad died, I became your standard bearer." She pointed this out calmly. "Therefore I came as was my duty."

"And you three just agreed with this?" Aragorn turned on the others.

"Have you ever _tried_ stopping this lass, Aragorn?" Gimli pointed out.

He shrugged and admitted the dwarf spoke truly. But he was not happy. Not in the least. Thus far, Elrohir had remained silent. He wanted to either scream or laugh, he wasn't quite sure which.

"Miril, I was going to appoint Calenglad as my standard bearer while you were injured," Aragorn told her, taking her aside.

The look on her face made him take a step back. "No."

"What?" He looked at her in surprise. She had never, or at least very rarely, contradicted him so forcefully and unwavering.

"I said no." She growled. "My father died for you and for me, Aragorn. It is my job to finish what he started. It is my job to protect you and I will do so even if it means giving of myself in the end."

Aragorn searched her face but at last he sighed. "Very well."

They returned to where the others stood conversing. They grew quiet when the two Rangers returned and awaited to hear what Aragorn had to say.

"Let's get to work." Gandalf said, seeing Aragorn had made up his mind about Miril. "There is much to discuss."

In the end, after at least a few hours of discussion, it was decided that Aragorn, Imrahil, and Éomer would lead many of each of their peoples towards Mordor and the Black Gate. They would distract Sauron to perhaps give the hobbits time to reach Mount Doom.

"For Sauron knows that the sword that destroyed him is here again," Aragorn looked at Miril. "And he knows our other secrets."

"What secrets might that be, Aragorn," Legolas asked. "Surely he hates you most."

Gandalf, the Twins, Aragorn, and Miril grew silent and shared a knowing look. The others shuffled in place and wondered what great secret was being kept from them.

"I am in command of my own destiny," Miril spoke to them in elvish. "I wish to share this with my friends."

Aragorn nodded. Gandalf nodded. Elladan nodded. Only Elrohir objected, but when he saw she had made up her mind, he shut up.

"I am a Ranger of the North," Miril told the others. "But I am Half-elven also, as you know."

"Indeed," Gimli agreed.

"Long ago, before the ages of the Sun and Moon, an elf was born by the name of Finwë. He was the father of the elves known as the Noldor. Great craftsmen they were. Finwë married another Noldor named Miriel Serindë. She bore a son named Fëanor, Spirit of Fire, but so powerful was he that she gave up the will to live upon his birth. Fëanor would grow up to be the most powerful elf to ever live. Other sons and daughters he had with Indis of the Vanyar, Findis, Fingolfin, Finarfin, and Irimë. Both sons bore many children who went to Middle Earth including Galadriel."

She looked around. Legolas knew this tale, she could tell. But it was wholly new to Imrahil, Éomer, and Gimli.

Miril continued, "Fëanor was such a powerful craftsman that he forged three great jewels known as the Silmarils, that captured the light of Valinor. But the first Dark Lord, Morgoth, desired them above all else. He slew Finwë, father of Fëanor, and stole the Silmarils. In response, Fëanor declared war on Morgoth and despite the decree forbidding it, he decided to pursue him to Middle Earth along with his seven sons: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, and the twins Amrod and Amras. But in the process, they attacked and slaughtered their kindred elves, the Teleri, stealing their swan ships and sailing to Middle Earth."

She sighed, thinking of her dream, but continued on, "One of the Sons, Caranthir, met a great female leader of men in Middle Earth. Haleth was her name. I am the product of these two great beings."

Legolas stared at her in shock. Éomer, Gimli, and Imrahil still did not fully understand what she was implying.

"Sauron was the servant, the Lieutenant, of Morgoth. Fëanor and his sons were his greatest enemies. And now, he knows that the line of the Spirit of Fire yet lives. For I exist, last member of the line of Fëanor." She decided to leave out mentions of Maglor's existence. "Sauron will stop at nothing to see I am eradicated."

"Then even more truly should you not go to battle at the Black Gates," Legolas cried. "Sauron will hunt you down."

"Exactly," Miril nodded. "That is Exactly why I must go. If we need to draw him out, the combined bait of myself and Aragorn should be enough to distract him."

"If what you say I true, which I do not doubt," Imrahil nodded slowly, "then you are right. Leaving you behind at Minas Tirith threatens the safety of that city and our entire effort."

The tent grew silent in contemplation. Both sides spoke truly. If she went, the odds that she'd be a target were extremely high. That was either good, or bad, depending on the perspective. To Miril, it was of no consequence. She had to go. It was her duty as a follower of Aragorn Elessar. She owed him her allegiance and would not shy from all that meant.

"We leave in two days. Any who would go, be ready," Aragorn decided. "Miril, you will be my standard bearer."


	63. No Regrets

In the two days that passed, Miril focused on getting better. She took walks around the Pelennor Fields and Minas Tirith itself. The city had many nooks and crannies worth exploring. Faramir and Eowyn stayed in the Houses of Healing, enjoying one another's company. Merry sometimes joined Miril on her walks but more often than not, he and Pippin went on their own adventures.

When at last the morning came when they were to set out, Miril was retrieved by Prince Imrahil from the Houses of Healing.

"Are you ready, Lady?" he asked her. "The host leaves soon."

She nodded but frowned. "What horse am I to ride?"

"Aragorn told me that he found Bruidal and that you would understand what that meant?" Imrahil told her as they walked through Minas Tirith's streets.

Miril nodded curtly. "Bruidal was my father's mare. I will gladly ride her."

When they reached the mustering of the army, Miril and Imrahil found a beautiful brown horse standing beside Aragorn and the other commanders. Miril smiled sadly as she walked over to Bruidal and patted her on the nose. She could feel the confusion and sadness within the horse.

"At least you survived, Bru," Miril whispered. "We will go to our doom together and reunite with my father."

"Mount up, Miril. We ride in ten," Aragorn told her.

She did so and Elladan handed her the Standard of Aragorn. She unfurled it and the mithril tree and stars glittered in the sunlight. They reckoned it would take about five or six days before they reached the Black Gate. Miril had come to terms with the fact that she was most likely riding to her death. She did not fear it. She would embrace her doom.

"Amarthiel. My new epesse," she muttered. "Daughter of Doom."

"Come, Miril!" Aragorn gestured forward on his horse, "Join the Dunedain at the front. I will be along shortly."

She nodded and rode forward through the ranks of Rohirrim and Gondorian soldiers. Elladan and Elrohir followed her up to the front. They stood to either side of her, grey cloaks flapping in the wind. Miril's cloak had been ripped in the battle so she wore a plain black one now. She put the hood up to shield herself from the wind that blew across the plains. She was tired of the wind blowing her hair in every which way so she braided it back.

"Are you ready, mellon-nin?" Elladan asked her with a smile.

Miril nodded. "Indeed. I feel fine."

That was a lie, in fact. Miril felt slightly light headed and extra fatigued, but she would not let the brothers know this. Elrohir looked at her and smiled.

"Maybe someday you will have a standard bearer, Miril. One that bears the sigil of your house," Elrohir shrugged.

She chuckled. "Perhaps, _melda_."

 _Melda_. Elrohir loved hearing her call him "beloved." It made him happy and want to just twirl her around and kiss her. But they had a job to do. And while he had been against her going with them in the first place, he understood her desire to go.

Legolas, with Gimli behind him, rode up and set his horse beside Elladan. He looked at Miril briefly in awe before turning back to watch ahead. It didn't take long before Gandalf and Aragorn came up and took their places. Aragorn in the center, Miril to his right and Gandalf his left. Elrohir rode beside Miril and Elladan beside him while Legolas and Imrahil rode beside Gandalf.

"Ready, my friends?" Aragorn asked them.

They all nodded. He ordered Miril lift the standard high. It furled out in the wind and the troops shouted and cheered behind them. Aragorn drew Anduril and pointed forward. Rochyrn moved forward and Bruidal followed right behind. The army moved forward.

The part of the army on horseback reaches the Crossroads of the Fallen King around nightfall and set up camp. Miril would be sharing a tent with the Twins again and she left them to set it up. Bruidal was left there as well as she stuck the standard in the ground. She wanted to take a walk and find somewhere to sit for awhile.

She snuck out from camp and climbed up a small hillock. In the starlight she sat on the grass beneath the trees. She sighed, allowing herself a moment to breathe. A residual chill was spreading in her throat and making her wheeze.

"Are you alright, Miril?"

She whipped around and found herself looking at Legolas who stood with his head cocked and his eyes ripe with concern.

"I am fine," she protested. "Just a little…"

He nodded and told her that there was no explanation needed.

"May I?" He asked, gesturing to the space beside her.

She nodded. Legolas sat down beside her. Miril looked up between the trees at the stars. Eärendil's Star was far above them. She felt comfort and as she looked at it, the chill in her throat faded.

"So…" Legolas trailed off. "You're a Fëanorian?"

Miril nearly laughed at his not-so-subtle attempt at talking about her heritage. She nodded.

"Indeed," Miril said. "A descendent of Caranthir and Haleth."

Legolas nodded, "Interesting."

She nodded. He nodded. What was there to say? Her ancestor was a merciless, anger filled warrior who had repeatedly committed acts of war against Legolas' Sindarin people. She dreaded to think what the already somewhat stuck up Thranduil would think when Legolas would tell him.

"I'm not like him," she quickly added. "I'm not Caranthir."

Legolas nodded. "I have seen enough to recognize that."

They sat in silence for awhile before Legolas left her be. She was about to return to camp when another person came up to her.

"You've been gone awhile," Aragorn said. "My standard bearer shouldn't go wandering off."

She turned to find him leaning against a tree with a troubled look on his face. Miril softly smiled and walked over. She nodded.

"My apologies, my Lord," she half-joked.

Aragorn smiled. "I will not have my best friend refer to me as such. I am Aragorn, Strider, Elessar. But to you I am merely friend."

Miril looked up wistfully at the stars. "I wonder what my father would say to that."

Aragorn frowned. "I miss him greatly. As I know you do as well. But his sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Miril began to cry then, falling to her knees and shielding her face with her hands. The horrors of the past several days was finally catching up with her. Her father was gone. Truly, truly gone.

Aragorn knelt beside her and embraced her. "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are evil."

"Why did he have to die," she choked. "Why?"

Aragorn sighed. He looked at his friend's face, wet with fresh tears. The hand print on her neck was starkly light, and her breathing was labored. Not for the first time since his decision to let her come did he question it. She was not well. She should have been resting in the Houses of Healing with Merry, Faramir, and Eowyn.

"He died for us, Miril. He died to protect this nation, this cause, this world." Aragorn pulled her to his chest. "Do not forget the joys of his life in the sadness of his death."

Miril choked, trying to get a handle on her sobbing. She and Aragorn were found by the Twins in that manner, but Miril had fallen asleep, so tired was she from the events of the past few days.

Aragorn gestured for them to be quiet as he picked her up. He handed her over to Elrohir who carried her back to camp.

"She finally came to terms with Halbarad's death," Aragorn explained quietly to Elladan as they stood there.

Elladan nodded. "It was only a matter of time. Perhaps she can move forward now?"

"I hope," agreed Aragorn. "Though in her current mood, I would hate to be a servant of Sauron."

Elladan let out a laugh. "This I would agree."

Aragorn and Elladan walked back to camp and found Elrohir sitting up next to Miril in their tent. She was still fast asleep. They didn't want to wake her; she needed all the sleep she could get. All three looked at her neck. The white discoloration from the hand of Khamul the Easterling stuck out against her already pale skin.

"Do you regret letting her come, little brother?" Elladan asked him quietly as all three looked at her sleeping form.

Aragorn was silent. Did he? He was responsible for her now, that much he did know. Halbarad wouldn't expect him to outright, but it had been an unspoken rule that whichever one of them lived would look after her. That now fell to Aragorn. But Halbarad had also known she would follow Aragorn to the ends of Middle Earth. And surely he wouldn't expect him to refuse her offer of service. But she was injured, sick. Did he regret his decision?

"Nay," he sighed. "I do not. She has the right to fight against the servants of the Enemy in my service and in her own. Vengeance is as important to her as her forefather Fëanor. I've always seen that in her. I would not be the one to deny her that vengeance."


	64. Parlay

They spent several days traveling towards the Black Gate. Around day four since Minas Tirith, they came upon the outskirts of Minas Morgul, outside of Ithilien.

"Leave the army here," Aragorn ordered his commanders. "Éomer, stay here in command with Gandalf. I'm going to take the Twins, Miril, and Imrahil with me to scout ahead."

"Of course, my Lord," Éomer nodded.

Miril handed the standard over to Éomer. A scouting mission was not the place for a big sign advertising their presence. She reluctantly let it go.

"Keep it safe," she told Éomer doubtfully.

He softly smiled. "Of course, Miril."

She nodded. Over the past several days, her friends had noticed her increasing solemness. She seldom spoke more than when she was addressed. But then again, most of the others were falling quiet as they drew closer to Mordor, as well.

They dismounted their horses and sheathed their weapons as they walked forward silently. Sneaking forward after about a ten minute walk, they drew to the edge of a cliff face and looked down into the Morgul Vale. It was completely deserted. Some had argued that an assault on that place first would be advantageous, but Aragorn knew otherwise. Minas Morgul was a devious, deceptive, cruel place filled with horrors that would trick men's minds and cause terror amidst the troops. No. They would not try attacking. Instead they merely set the ground alight and left after breaking the bridge.

Two more days passed and at last they reached the place they had been striving for. A great gate, the Black Gate of Mordor, stood there between to arms of the mountains. It was shut tight. Aragorn turned towards his commanders and ordered them to array the troops as he commanded. When all that was done, he sighed.

Miril was looking long and hard at the Black Gate. She felt so much evil emanating from that place, so much it almost hurt. She wondered if the great Fingolfin of the Elder Days had felt like this when he challenged the Dark Lord Morgoth himself to single combat. Or if Hurin the great man, tortured by Morgoth, felt fear as she did now. She wondered if Beren and Luthien, if Fingon the Valiant, if Maedhros the Tall, if any of them had felt as fearful as she did now when they faced the Dark Lord and his minions. She reminded herself that Sauron himself had been one of those minions. Luthien, great half elf, half Maia that she was, had defeated Sauron Lord of Werewolves alongside Huan the hound. But she also knew that of their vanguard, the only one with the power of the elves of the Elder Days was Gandalf. And even he was restricted in what power he could use. Was it hopeless?

"Gandalf, Elladan, Elrohir, Éomer, Imrahil, Miril, Legolas, Gimli, Pippin," Aragorn addressed them sternly. "Follow me. We go to entreat with the Black Gate."

They spurred their horses on slowly. The heralds blasted the challenge forth on their trumpets and Miril raised the standard high. No weapons were drawn just yet. They stopped half way and waited. But nothing happened.

Miril felt hope when she looked upon Gandalf and Aragorn. They were powerful. Perhaps there was hope.

As they went to turn around, finally the huge Black Gate creaked open ever so slightly. A man rode forward on a black horse, followed by a small company of soldiers. He was hideous and wore a large crown like mask over his face that showed only his ugly mouth.

"I am the Mouth of Sauron," he said viciously.

He was a black numenorean, but little else is known about him. Even he had forgotten his own name. Though he was clothed like a Ringwraith, he was not one. He was flesh and blood, highly gifted in sorcery.

"Is there anyone here with authority to treat with me?" he asked. "Or indeed with wit to understand me? Not thou at least!'

Turning to Aragorn with scorn he continued. "It needs more to make a king than a piece of elvish glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following!"

Miril drew Galmegil and the Mouth of Sauron quailed instantly. But Gandalf put a hand on her arm and instructed her to put the sword away before she did anything stupid.

"This is a parlay! You cannot attack me," the Mouth said angrily. "And who are you to speak, old grey-beard?"

Gandalf and the Mouth of Sauron sparred with words for awhile, trading insults, some more veiled than others. But eventually the Mouth got to the point.

"Sauron the Great thought you might wish to see these?" He grinned maniacally and drew out a child-size mithril shirt of mail.

Pippin yelped in horror as he and all the company realized it was Frodo's mithril coat. Gandalf seized it from the Mouth after more word play.

"There will be no more parlay," Gandalf spat at him. "Get you gone, slave of Mordor."

The Mouth of Sauron quailed back and rode away. As he turned, the Black Gate opened and suddenly a huge host of Mordor moved forward. Aragorn barked orders that they retreat back to the vanguard.

"We would know if Sauron had the Ring," Gandalf was telling Aragorn. "There may still yet be hope."

Aragorn nodded. He ordered Éomer back with the Rohirrim and Imrahil beside Aragorn with the Gondorian soldiers and Knights of Dol Amroth. Meanwhile he, the Twins, and Miril remained with Gandalf at the front alongside the Grey Company. He drew Anduril. Gandalf drew Glamdring. Miril drew Galmegil. Three shining, ancient swords eager for blood were there ready to fight. At the top of a hill were placed the Standards of Aragorn, Éomer, and Imrahil. Miril now had her hands free to use Galmegil.

"Eru help us all," Miril murmured as the orcs issued forth and drew near, followed by men of Harad and Khand and Rhûn and in the air accompanied by the remaining Nazgûl.

The battle for Middle Earth was beginning.


	65. Day Has Come Again

With the first orc, Miril felt alive again. Its shrill scream of agony as it died on her blade oddly invigorated her. She felt ready to fight, and to die if necessary. But she would take a hundred of them with her if she did go down. They would suffer her wrath.

One orc after the next felt the cold bite of Galmegil. Beside her was Elrohir on one side and Aragorn on the other. Anduril was shining bright, a light in the darkness of Mordor. Miril caught sight of the blue attire that Prince Imrahil was wearing not far off. He was an incredibly skilled warrior.

Miril sidestepped a large orc and cackled as she sliced his throat. But suddenly she heard a roar and turned back. She sighed and readjusted her grip on Galmegil. For in front of her was a large battle troll.

"A little help here," she shouted to the Twins who were distracted.

They turned to look at what she wanted and spat out some curses in elvish. Racing over, Elladan and Elrohir stood to either side of her. They faced the troll together.

"This is probably really stupid," she shouted to them after a few minutes of dodging a spiked club. "Just go with it."

"What in Eru's name?!" Elladan yelled as she raced forward and leapt up onto the troll's back. "What are you doing?"

Elrohir shook his head as he dodged another blow from the troll. The armor was too thick for them to get through from where they were standing so Miril had decided to take matters into her own hands. The spikes on the armor made things difficult, but also helped her stay on. They offered easy footholds as she climbed the troll's back, but one false step and that would be the end. She had never imagined her death would be impaling on troll armour. That had not even entered her mind, until now.

"Over here, Servant of Mordor," Elrohir screamed at the troll when it tried to dislodge Miril.

He stabbed it in the foot and the troll roared in fury. Miril cursed as she was thrown about but she managed to climb the last few steps up to the area between it's body armour and helmet. She plunged Galmegil deep into the troll's neck, killing it all but instantly. She leapt off the beast as it fell, falling on the ground in a heap as she struggled to stand up. Imrahil, racing over, stabbed an orc that was about to jump her. He then offered Miril a hand up.

"You alright?" He asked her quickly. "That was good work."

Miril caught her breath as she stood beside Prince Imrahil. She nodded her thanks and turned to see where the Sons of Elrond were. She spotted them taking on a rather large group of Haradrim warriors.

"Shall we?" Miril gestured to them.

Imrahil nodded. "Let's."

The two warriors sweapt into the fray once more, hacking at the men of Harad. Miril held a special hatred for these Southern men. They had killed her father and she would not soon forget that.

She found herself matched up against a particularly quick fighter. This Haradrim was smaller than the others, slimmer too. When Miril finally locked eyes with the warrior, she was shocked to find herself looking into the eyes of a fellow woman. The slight lapse in concentration gave the Haradrim ttime to land a blow on her arm, though Miril dodged the worst of it. Without even a second thought and despite the blood now trickling down her arm, Miril swung at the woman and hacked off her head. There was no mercy here. Just death.

Miril grabbed the cut on her arm in pain and tried to back out of the worst of the fighting. She spotted Éomer near the left hill surrounded by his Eorlingas and the Rohirrim. She also caught sight of Pippin and Beregond of Gondor near Gandalf. She was about to search out Aragorn when it happened.

The screech was so loud and horrific that men stopped and covered their ears. Not far above them circled the Nazgûl on their fellbeasts, and three were descending. Men fled before their terrifying countenance. They landed in a triangle around Miril. She felt the chill of Khamûl's hand on her throat as if it was really there. She shivered in fear but raised Galmegil in front of her in challenge.

Fortunately she didn't need to face them alone this time. With a cry of "Elendil!," Aragorn leapt alongside Gandalf between Miril and two of the Nazgûl. Now it was just one she had to deal with.

She swung her sword and the clash of good on evil was astonishingly loud. But her movements were sluggish not in the least because of the slash on her sword arm. Fortunately for her, Gandalf had driven his Nazgûl back to the skies and leapt to her side. Aragorn followed suit and moved her out of the way as he and Gandalf drove the third Nazgûl away.

"How's your arm?" He asked quickly as Gandalf came over.

"Hurts," she muttered. "But I am alright."

"Can you keep fighting?" Aragorn asked her immediately.

She glared. "Of course!"

They split up, Miril turning back to handle the orcs nearby. Aragorn and Gandalf went back to the front. Miril found herself fighting beside Éomer and Imrahil now.

Up on a hill stood Gandalf and Aragorn beneath the Banner of Elessar. Suddenly a cry was let out.

"The Eagles are coming! The Eagles!"

Aragorn raised Anduril to the sky as he watched the Eagles fly over head. He shouted to his soldiers as the Nazgûl screeched and feld to Mount Doom at the final bidding of their master.

"Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!"

Even as Aragorn called out this pronunciation, the ground shook and they watched as the Black Gates collapsed. Miril looked on in awe as the ground cracked around her and the orcs began falling into a newly opened chasm. Mount Doom in the distance belched and spat lava, exploding in the dark sky. Miril felt tears stinging her eyes as she smiled.

"Auta i lómë, Aurë entuluva!" She shouted loudly. "Day has come again!"

The Black Gate had crumbled to the ground and they watched as the Tower of Barad-dûr fell to the ground, crashing into oblivion. Frodo had done it. The quest was complete. Miril raised Galmegil to the sky and cried out again. She grabbed a soldier that stood beside her and hugged him. Tears were streaming down her face in joy of the victory and pain from the cut on her arm.

Elrohir and Elladan met up with Miril moments later. Elrohir grabbed her and planted a kiss on her lips. She grabbed him in a hug and laughed. The servants of Sauron were gone, the world was free once more. The shouts and cheers on the battle field spread far and wide.

Elladan took the time to wrap her arm with a tear of her cloak as they stood reveling. Once her cut was compressed, they walked over to where Aragorn was. He explained that Gandalf had ridden Gwaihir to find Frodo and Sam. Prince Imrahil and Éomer also joined them. It was somewhat sobering to think about the threat that Frodo and Sam were still under. But nevertheless, no matter what happened, Sauron was gone from Middle Earth forever.


	66. At the Fields of Cormallen

When Gandalf returned, he bore with him two hobbits. Frodo and Sam, looking more than a little worse for wear and entirely unconscious, were carried by Aragorn and Gandalf as the army trecked back to the Fields of Cormallen in Ithilien. The reached there by day's end.

In the after hours of the battle, Miril had found Bruidal, her father's horse, still alive and well. She was very glad of this and rode the brown mare back to camp.

No one saw much of Aragorn that night. He was with the hobbits, doing his best to heal them of their hurts and revive them. Miril spent her time being looked over for injuries and then she took a walk in the wonderful area that was the Fields of Cormallen in Ithilien. Beneath the stars she felt peace.

"Aurë entuluva, melda," Elrohir snuck up behind her and whispered in her ear. _Day shall come again, beloved._

She smiled and spun around to face him. His cascading dark hair was recently brushed and she mocked him for it.

"First thing you do when we get out of a battle is pleat your hair?" she mocked good naturedly.

Elrohir chuckled. "Nay. But I was bored. Unlike you, I sustained no wounds."

They both looked at her right arm that had been stitched up bandaged. The white cloth that bound her arm was stained with red from where the wound was seeping.

Miril smiled up at the taller half-elf and leaned against his chest as they looked up at the stars. She looked at Eärendil's Star wistfully.

"Do you ever wish you had met the heroes of old, Elrohir?" she sighed.

Elrohir smiled softly as he rested his chin on her head. Did he?

"Often I do," he revealed. "I long to meet the Eldar and Edain of ages past."

She listened to the babbling of a stream thag flowed nearby and almost fancied she heard a voice within its music. Almost, but not quite. If it was saying something, she was unable to decode it. Miril breathed in deeply and closed her eyes and she rested against her beloved's chest and basked in the clean, rich air of Ithilien that she had longed for while at the Black Gate. Before long, the lull of the water and the gentle breeze nearly put her to sleep so she sighed and they returned to camp.

"What do you think Valinor is like, mellon-nin?" Miril asked him quietly as the tiptoed to the large tent where the commanders were to sleep.

Elrohir shrugged. "Beautiful of course. I like to think it will be more beautiful even than Lothlorien."

Miril nodded. That's what she had always equated it to. Lothlorien was probably the closest anyone in Middle Earth could come to experiencing the Undying Lands of the Uttermost West. Then something else occurred to her.

"What do you think will now happen to Lorien and Rivendell with the destruction of the Ring?" she whispered quietly to Elrohir.

"Most likely, they will fade. Fade as the elves leave Middle Earth in droves now," Elrohir sighed in response. "For there is no more reason for elves to remain here."

"Do you plan on leaving," Miril asked sadly, "Do you plan on choosing an elven life?"

Elrohir paused but shook his head. "I will not leave unless you choose to leave."

Miril sighed. "I am under the ban of the Valar. Even if I do choose immortality, I would be forced to live out my life in Middle Earth."

Elrohir nodded. "Then I stay."

Miril felt warmth fill her chest as she smiled at her beloved. Elrohir was so selfless. Elrond had certainly raised him well. She kissed him on the cheek before lying down for sleep. It wasn't long before she was asleep. Elrohir, for his part, decided to seek out Aragorn. He found the soon to be king with Gandalf and Elladan.

"There you are, brother," Elladan nodded. "What troubles you?"

"Nothing, truly." He shook his head. "I was just contemplating the fate of elven kind now that the Ring had been destroyed."

They all nodded, Aragorn speaking up, "The World has and will lose much in the coming years. The Fourth Age has begun, an age of Men. I do not doubt the elves will sail West now."

"How are the hobbits," Elrohir asked after a moment of melancholy silence.

"I have done my best. They seem to be doing well, and I do not doubt they will wake soon." Aragorn smiled. "They are a hearty folk, as you know."

"Indeed," the Half-elven twin agreed. "Indeed."

"Well I am going to check on our hobbits once more before bed," Gandalf said after a moment. "Sleep well."

They all told him likewise, and soon it was just the Sons of Elrond and Aragorn. Elrohir was lost in thought and the others noticed it.

"What troubles you, brother," Elladan pressed.

Elrohir smiled a rueful smile before falling back into silence. Finally he spoke.

"I plan to ask our father if I may take Miril's hand in marriage," he murmured in thought. "I am striving to figure out what his response will be."

"He trusts her," Aragorn said. "I trust her. And the two of you trust her. What more proof does he need to allow her hand in marriage?"

"The Doom that lies upon her will complicate matters," Elrohir sighed. "It is not an easy thing to get around."

The other two agreed. Elladan, who had thus far been silent, spoke up.

"Galadriel will help us convince him, I am sure," he smiled. "Our grandmother very much likes Mir."

They returned to silence, each debating their own thoughts in their heads. Aragorn was thinking of his own betrothed, Arwen Undomiel. He was thinking about his impending coronation as well.

"Get rest, little brother," Elrohir smiled at Aragorn. "You are weary from striving with the darkness. Rest now."

Aragorn nodded and bid them goodnight. Elladan and Elrohir were left alone now. They stood side by side, watching the waterfall feeding the stream. The night was peaceful. Much more peaceful than any night that had come before in recent days.

The company of the Captains of the West stayed long in Ithilien. A month at least they were there, and Frodo and Sam awakened and were greatly honored. 'Praise them with Great Praise!' was the cry on the lips of every soldier in that company.

Miril spent the majority of the time with the Twins, Gandalf, and Aragorn. But soon she felt restless. It was time they be getting back to Minas Tirith.

So it was in the last days of April of the Fourth Age of Middle Earth, the great host arrived back at Minas Tirith to the joy and wonder of the people there. They were met by Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and Eowyn of Rohan. They entered the city to fanfare and rejoicing. The King was returning.


	67. Crowning of King Elessar

The next day, May 1st of the Fourth Age, was to be the coronation. Miril needed a dress.

"What am I going to wear?" she was freaking out that morning and was asking Aragorn. "My battle clothes are hardly appropriate for the crowning of my king!"

Aragorn turned to Faramir. "Do you know where she could get a dress?"

"I do indeed actually. My father kept my mother's old wardrobe up in their room." He smiled. "Come with me, Miril. We will get it sorted out."

She breathed a sigh of relief and followed the Steward up a flight of stairs. Her current raiment was nice clothes, but not nice enough for a ceremony of the magnitude of Aragorn's coronation. Faramir understood this and he began showing her a few choices.

In the end, Miril picked a light blue gown with silver trim. On her feet were silver sandals and in her hair was placed a silver metal flower hair piece stuck in her beautiful braid of brown hair. Elrohir looked at her in awe when she stepped down stairs, followed by Faramir.

"Fit for someone of your lineage," Aragorn nodded with a sparkle in his eye of mirth. "There is no need to shy from your heritage anymore, Miril Lôminzil, descendant of Lord Fëanor, once High King of the Noldor, and Haleth, queen of her Haladin. Sauron is gone, you are safe."

Miril smiled and nodded with a laugh. She turned to the Twins who had also finished putting on their grandest, and now clean, regalia. Their circlets adornered their heads, subtle but still beautiful. Apparently they had brought them with the hopes that they would see Aragorn crowned.

"It is time," Gandalf said, opening the door and beckoning to them.

Miril and the twins scurried out to join the others outside. Faramir processed out next, followed by Aragorn. When the two leaders appeared, a great shout was released by the townsfolk. They cried out in joy.

Faramir, once the folk had quieted, spoke loudly, "Men of Gondor hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! one has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter into the City and dwell there?"*

Miril joined in the people as all cried "yea" with one voice. She had left Galmegil in the room she'd been granted in Minas Tirith, but had she had it, she would've raised it high in tribute to her king.

Faramir took the crown from a bearer beside him and handed it to Aragorn. But he handed I back. He said that Frodo should carry it to him, and Gandalf crown him.

"It has taken many to receive my inheritance. And they should be rewarded and honored," he told the crowd.

And so Frodo took hold of the Winged Crown and carried it to Gandalf. The White Wizard took it and placed it gently on Aragorn's head.

" _Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta_!" Aragorn cried out.

Those were the words Elendil spoke upon landing on yhe shotes from fleeing Numenor. 'Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.' Miril felt a shiver of wonder flow through her as she saw her uncle figure crowned at last. Aragorn Elessar Telcontar. King of the Reunited Kingdom. Truly the magnificence of Beren and Hurin and Elendil of old was in him.

Once the ceremony was over, Aragorn and his friends went back inside the main throne room. Prince Imrahil knelt and offered his sword in a formal gesture of humility and service. Aragorn accepted it gladly. Legolas and Gimli embraced their friend. Elladan and Elrohir smiled wide at their "little brother" who had finally come into his own. Gandalf laid a hand on his shoulder in comfort and congratulations. The four hobbits swarmed him. Faramir bowed to his king. Éomer embraced him like brothers.

Miril didn't realize she was crying until Aragorn walked over and wiped a tear from her cheek. They both started smiling.

" _Utúlie'n aurë, heru Elessar!_ " She laughed and hugged him. " _Utúlie'n aurë_!"

"What did she say?" Pippin asked Frodo with a whisper.

"The day has come, lord Elfstone. The day has come." Frodo told him quietly.

Aragorn gripped her shoulders. "Indeed it has, my friend. Indeed it has. And I am glad to have you by my side this day to celebrate. For this is a victory of Middle Earth. A victory of our people. And you did much to aid in it."

Miril smiled and nodded proudly. "You know I will serve you to the best of my abilities, even unto death, as I always have."

Aragorn nodded and smiled. He beckoned for her to follow him as he sat upon the throne. Miril stopped in front and wondered what he was doing.

"Listen, friends. I have one last duty to perform." He smiled at them. "Faramir, I ask that you stay in my service and take up residence in Ithilien as my steward still."

"Of course, my king." He bowed to Aragorn.

Tha king turned to Gimli and Legolas. "Friends. I would entreat you each to someday bring a host of your people here. Gimli, the skill of the dwarves will be needed to repair the gates and Osgiliath. Legolas, Ithilien could use the touch of the elves to heal its hurts."

Both nodded and bowed to Aragorn. He was not their king, this was true. But he commanded much power and they were good friends.

"Lastly," Aragorn smiled softly at Miril, "I wish to name my ward. Miril Lôminzil, called Edlen and Amarthiel, I take you as my ward into my house. Take your place at my side, as your father should have this day."

Miril gaped at him. She knelt at his feet and felt a few stray tears trickle down her face. Aragorn was taking her into his house. It meant that until Aragorn had an heir by blood, she would fulfill that role. Aragorn helped her up with a smile.

" _Utúlie'n aurë,"_ he whispered in her ear.

She smiled and wiped the tears from her face. Aragorn brought forth a small, silver circlet and placed it on her head.

"Wear this with pride. For not only are you now a Lady of power in Gondor, but you may find soon that you are tied to the royal houses of the elves," he murmured to her and winked.

Miril blushed as she turned around and looked at her friends, her eyes falling on Elrohir. He clapped the loudest and longest of them all. When at last the room settled down and the people dispersed upon Aragorn's orders, Miril walked over and Elrohir kissed her. Elladan laughed and embraced her as well.

"Congratulations, _mellon-nin_ ," Elladan smiled.


	68. The Trustworthy

The next morning, Miril awoke in her comfy bed and didn't want to get up. The sheets were warm and the blankets comfortable. She spent several minutes just staring up at the stone ceiling, counting the bumps. But at last there came a knock at the door and she sat up, calling for whoever it was to enter.

It was a castle servant. She was a young girl with shiny dark hair and blue eyes. She wore a nice grey dress and her hair was in pigtails. The girl bowed upon entering.

"My Lady," she said, "The King requests your presence in his room."

Miril nodded. "Thank you. Tell him I'm on my way."

The girl bowed and turned to leave.

"What is your name," Miril asked her. "How old are you?"

"I am Elumeril," the servant girl answered. "I am nine years old, my Lady."

Miril smiled. "Thank you, Elumeril. Please tell Lord Aragorn that I will be in shortly."

The girl smiled and nodded before leaving the room. Elumeril was a very pretty name, elvish for Light Blue Flower. Probably a reference to the girl's pale blue eyes. Miril was pleased to have her as a maidservant. Though it would take some getting used to, that was for certain.

Miril got out of bed and went to the closet where Faramir had transferred the dresses that fit. Miril put on a grey dress and grey sandals before brushing and braiding her hair and placing her circlet on her head. That took some getting used to as well.

She left the room soon after and went up the stairs to where the king's chambers were. She knocked and heard a voice tell her to enter. She did as such. Inside she found Aragorn, Éomer, and the Sons of Elrond. They were standing around talking.

"Ah, Miril. Good," Aragorn nodded. "Éomer and the Twins are riding for Rohan tomorrow morning and I'd like you to go as well. A rider reached Minas Tirith this morning with word that a company of elves is approaching Édoras."

Elrohir nodded. "Most likely it is a combined host from Rivendell and Lothlorien."

Aragorn agreed. "As such I want the three of you to go with Éomer and accompany them back here."

Miril smiled and nodded in understanding, "Of course."

Aragorn dismissed the others but told Miril to stay. The Twins left after telling her good morning, and Éomer smiled as he passed her.

"Is there something the matter, Aragorn?" Miril asked him.

Aragorn sighed and went to the window where bright morning light was streaming through. The breeze ruffled his hair from where he'd opened the glass panes. Then he turned back to face her.

"The Ring had been destroyed, Mordor has been eradicated. But this means you are one step closer to your Doom, according to the Mirror. Or have you forgotten?"

Miril remained silent for a moment and closed her eyes. Images from her dreams and her experience at the Mirror of Galadriel flooded into her mind. Images of blood and darkness. Of evil coming out of the South. Images of a Haradrim girl, a giant spider, and two blue wizards. They all sped into her mind and overwhelmed her.

"Nay, Aragorn. I had not forgotten. Never in all this time has it slipped my mind." She sighed. "But for now I must help you here until a day comes when I understand better the prophecy and the Mirror's message."

Aragorn nodded. "I figured you had not. And I suppose what you say I true. Perhaps the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, or Lord Elrond will be able to give you some assistance."

They were both silent for awhile, Miril lost in thought and Aragorn looking from the window out over his kingdom. The two Dunedain wondered what to do next. At last Aragorn turned to face her again.

"Go out to the camp of the Dunedain," he instructed. "Find me three of your most trusted allies. Bring them up here."

Miril nodded and left the room. She wondered why he needed them. She knew already who she would choose. Althea, Morwen, and Idril were certainly the three she trusted most. All three had survived the battle, though Althea had lost her left hand when a troll sword caught her. Fortunately she knew how to fight with her right arm as well.

Wandering down the streets of the city, people stopped and stared as she passed, noticing her circlet and recognizing her as the King's ward and friend. A few children ran up to her and she gave them hugs. The boys were especially curious about Galmegil which was strapped to her belt. She allowed them to touch the black and silver scabbard and try the mithril hilt. They were in awe.

Eventually she passed through the broken gates and out onto the Pelennor Fields. There she found the various hosts of the Free Peoples. Éomer's éored, Imrahil's Knights, and the Grey Company were all arrayed there. She found the small company of Dunedain quickly enough.

"Althea," Miril smiled as she embraced the woman warmly. "Aragorn has need of three of my trusted friends. That means you. Where are Idril and Morwen?"

Althea gestured with her handless arm towards the right. She got up and followed Miril after strapping on her sword and cloak. They found Morwen and Idril having a meal together.

"Morwen, Idril," Miril smiled. "Get up and follow me! The King has need of you."

Instantly the two women leapt to their feet and grabbed their weapons. Their King had summoned them. All three women followed Miril back to Minas Tirith and if Miril had thought the stares on the way out were bad, the stares coming in were even worse. The four women, three clad in travel clothes and one in a dress with a circlet, wandered up through the streets until they reached the throne room. There they found Aragorn, Gandalf, Faramir, and Imrahil.

Aragorn smiled when he saw whom Miril had chosen. The three women knelt before Aragorn and Miril smiled back at him.

"You requested my most trusted companions, Lord. I have brought them to you."

"Rise, friends," Aragorn nodded. "Althea, Morwen, Idril. Your King has need of you here."

"Whatever you request, Lord," Althea nodded as they rose to their feet. "Your wish is as a command to us."

"Althea, daughter of Daeron," Aragorn nodded. "You are wise. You learned the ways of the Dunedain alongside Miril. I have need of someone on the Council of Gondor from the Northern kingdom. Would you be willing to serve me here in Minas Tirith as an advisor?"

Althea nodded in shock. "Of course, My Lord. I would be honored."

Aragorn smiled and turned to Morwen. "Morwen, student of my greatest friend Halbarad. You are perhaps the greatest swordswoman I have ever met. I have need of a new Captain of the Guard as the previous perished in the war. Will you serve me here in Minas Tirith as well?"

Morwen was stunned but nodded, bowing deeply to him. "It would be with great pleasure, Lord."

Aragorn finally turned to Idril. The bright woman was barely able to hold Aragorn's eye contact, she was so in awe.

"Idril, daughter of Eärnur," Aragorn smiled. "Prince Imrahil had requested a new Captain for his guard. Your prowess in bowmanship and fleetfootedness, and your incredible ability to teach others, would serve him well in Dol Amroth. Will you accept this new position in the south of Gondor?"

"Of course, Lord. But," she hesitated. "May my beloved come as well?"

Aragorn chuckled. "Yes. Of course."

Idril grinned widely and bowed to her king. Truly Lord Aragorn was a wonderful ruler and it had been but a day since his official coronation.

"Miril, do you think these women will be able to fulfill their duties?" Aragorn asked her.

Miril nodded immediately. "I trust them with my life."

"Then it is settled. You will begin your new positions as soon as you can. Idril, speak to Prince Imrahil after this. Morwen, I will send you to the guards. And Althea, come with me for instructions. That is all.'


	69. The Elven Host

Miril dressed in her now clean tunic and a new black cloak the next morning early before dawn. When she had finished dressing, the sun was just peeking through the window panes. As she placed her circlet on her head, Miril wondered not for the first time what Elrond would think of her betrothal to his son. Considering Elrohir proposed with the brooch without consenting his father, things could go wrong. Especially because of who and what she was.

With a sigh, she rose from where she had sat by the window and strapped Galmegil onto her belt. The black and silver scabbard complemented her grey and black outfit, giving her a look of a true warrior. She opened the door to the stairwell and took it down to the throne room. There she met up with the Twins.

"Éomer is with his people, preparing them for departure," Elladan told her.

"Here," Elrohir handed her a roll with butter, "Eat quickly. We leave soon."

Miril nodded and ate the bread as they walked through the White Tower and out into the lower streets. The town was still mostly aslee though the sun was rising swiftly.

Miril reckoned the trip to Édoras would take about four days. Not too long at all. The host would move swiftly to arrive when the elves did. As they reached the stables where their three horses were housed, Miril finished up her breakfast and tacked up Bruidal. At last she mounted up on her and followed the twin Sons of Elrond out into the road down to the gates. There they met Éomer atop his horse Firefoot. He had placed his men in formation and was ready to depart.

"Are you ready, my friends?" King Éomer asked them as they rode to the front of the host.

"Let us be off," Elladan nodded.

Éomer had his standard bearer blow the horn to signal departure. As one the group began to move. They eventually picked up speed and moved at a reasonable pace across the Pelennor Fields back the way the Rohirrim had originally come to Gondor.

Days passed and the host rode on. They stopped each night and set up camp, but nothing of note happened on the trip to Édoras. It was quiet most of the time. Míril was too busy thinking about the words she and Aragorn had exchanged regarding her fate and the Silmaril. She felt it growing closer.

On the fifth day of travel, Édoras was at last in view. A host of elves was camped outside the city, awaiting the permission of Rohan's King to enter. As the Rohirrim cantered up to the elven host, Míril, Éomer, and the twins dismounted. Four elven leaders stood there, shining in the daylight.

"This is King Éomer of Rohan," Elladan smiled, introducing them. "Éomer, here is Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, Arwen, daughter of Elrond, Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien, and Celeborn, Lord of Lothlorien."

Éomer looked upon them in wonder and bowed low. "My Lords and Ladies, welcome to Rohan. It is my pleasure to house you here for awhile."

Galadriel smiled as the four elves bowed in return. "Thank you, King Éomer of Rohan. Long have we been neighbors, but never met. It is a pity."

"Please, come inside Édoras," Éomer nodded. "There are rooms in Meduseld more fit for such leaders than tents out on our fields."

Elrond nodded. "Thank you, I at least accept your offer."

"I as well," Celeborn agreed, and Galadriel and Arwen followed suit.

As such, the three elven royals walked with Éomer and the half-elves up to the Golden Hall through the city. Míril remained silent, unsure of how to approach the Lord Elrond. Galadriel felt her hesitation and dropped back to walk with her.

"There is something I must tell you, Míril," Galadriel said softly. "I have spoken to my husband and to Elrond already and they have agreed."

"What might that be, my lady?" Miril asked in confusion.

Galadriel smiled. "Fëanor relinquished the crown long ago through his son Maedhros to the line of Fingolfin. Upon Gil-galad's death in the Last Alliance, the place of honor as High King of the Elves has been vacant. I, as the eldest Noldor in Middle Earth, took it upon myself to act as leader alongside my son-in-law and husband."

Miril nodded. She knew this much so far.

With a sigh, the Noldorin lady continued, "However soon, very soon, Celeborn and I are leaving Lothlorien for Rivendell, and from there, Elrond and I plan to leave for the Undying Lands. That will leave only one Noldor worthy of the title here in Middle Earth. For Maglor, if he is alive, does not deserve that title after the atrocities he performed."

Miril was stunned silent. Was Galadriel saying what she thought she was saying?

"You must take up the mantle of High Queen of the Noldor here in Middle Earth. No power comes with the title anymore, but it is symbolic of Good triumphing over Evil." Galadriel chuckled softly at the look of shock on Miril's face.

"But I am not elven?" Miril protested. "I am Half-elven."

"True," Galadriel agreed, "But you have within you the blood of Finwë, High King. After his death at the hands of Morgoth, the High Kings have always strived to campaign against the evils in Middle Earth. You have proven yourself worthy in my eyes to carry on that pursuit once I leave."

Miril was silent as they reached the entrance into Meduseld. Éomer showed them to the royal guest rooms where they would stay for the next week or so as Éomer organized his people and formally received the crown.

Galadriel smiled at her softly. "You are worthy, daughter of the Spirit of Fire. You must right the wrongs of your forefathers. Redeem the name of Fëanor Curufinwë."

Míril nodded. "I will do my best, my lady."

"Come to me tonight before you sleep. We have something for you," Galadriel told her as the half-elf went to depart.

Miril nodded and went to her room to rest and process all that had been told to her. Meanwhile, Elrohir was pacing before his father's room. Elladan watched him humorously.

"Brothers," Arwren smiled as she walked quickly to them. "I feared I would not see you again!"

Elrohir stopped his pacing and smiled. He went to his sister and embraced her. Elladan did as well.

"Why do you pace?" Arwen asked Elrohir in confusion.

Elladan laughed. "He is about to ask our father for permission to wed Míril."

Arwen smiled wide. "Good! It is about time."

Finally the door opened and Elrond looked in confusion at his three children standing there.

"I feel like I am about to regret opening the door," he muttered loudly. "Come in."

Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen all walked inside the room and the latter two sat down. Elrohir wrung his hands and finally spoke up after a moment of silence.

"I have come to request your blessing for me to marry Míril Lôminzil of the North," he asked very formally.

Elrond sighed and nodded. "I knew this day was coming. Your grandmother told me of your betrothal to her."

"I was going to tell you." Elrohir rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

Elrond shook his head with a small smile. "Do not lie, my son. You hid it from me."

Elladan laughed but everyone else stared at him in irritation. He shut his mouth quickly.

"Elrohir, my son. You have always been stubborn, driven by emotion, loyal to your friends, rash to act-"

"I get the point," Elrohir muttered.

Elrond shook his head. "I should've known you would choose a woman who also displays all those characteristics. However, Míril has proven herself worthy in my eyes. And the eyes of your grandparents. Therefore I grant you my blessing on your bethrothal to Míril, descendent of Fëanor."

Elrohir smiled and hugged his father. Elrond nodded back as they embraced. He knew at that moment he was potentially loosing his son. Depending on the fate Miril chose, Elrohir would follow, too. And the odds that Míril was ever able to sail to Valinor was miniscule to nonexistent.

"We shall be wed in Gondor," Elrohir grinned. "I must tell her now!"

The twin ran out of the room and up the steps to where Míril's room was. He knocked on the door and she opened it, confused as to why Elrohir was all but bouncing up and down. She laughed as she let him in. He kissed her right there and closed the door.

"What is it you need?" She asked him, still chuckling as they broke apart.

"Míril! My father has given his permission for our marriage!"

Miril dropped the cup she'd been holding, completely shocked. After a moment the look of shock turned into pure bliss and joy. She kissed Elrohir and he swung her around.

"You mean it?" She asked him in surprise and happiness. "He said yes?"

"Indeed."


	70. House Feanoriel

**Royalty comes from what you do**

**\- Gianni Versace**

 

Míril was getting ready for bed when she recalled the Lady Galadriel's request that she go see the Lady before bed. Slipping on some sandals, she walked down the stairs and up another set to where Galadriel and Celeborn, and Elrond as well, were staying. She knocked gently on Galadriel's door.

It was Elrond who answered, to Míril's surprise. She walked in and smiled at Elrond, so glad was she that he had agreed to the marriage. She found Galadriel and Celeborn sitting at the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt?" Miril asked quickly.

Galadriel shook her head. "Nay. You are just in time. Elrond, did you bring it?"

Elrond nodded and went over to the wall. He picked up a standard that was folded up and brought it over.

"What is this, my lady?" Míril asked in surprise.

Galadriel stood. "Míril Lôminzil, called Edlen and Amarthiel, there is another name you should claim. Fëanoriel, Daughter of Fëanor. For through many unions you are indeed a direct descendent of that elven Lord. Take Fëanoriel as your House title."

Miril nodded. "Yes, my lady."

"I had my people create for you a standard and a sigil for your house. Here it is," Galadriel nodded to Elrond and he unfurled the standard.

Miril looked at it. It was two stars ontop of each other in light grey-blue on a black field. In the center of the two stars was a tongue of fire in bright red, with red rubies dotting the outside on the black cloth. Miril looked at it in amazement.

Elrond spoke, "Take this, Miril Fëanoriel, as your sigil. Present it to Aragorn so that he may make it a House of Gondor."

Miril knelt on one knee to the monarchs before her. She was not worthy to stand before them.

"Stand, child," Celeborn shook his head. "You are a great leader of elves and Men now yourself. Under Lord Aragorn you shall bring great honor to the House of Fëanor as should've been done in ages past. Right the wrongs of your forefathers."

Míril accepted Elrond's hand in assistance to stand. He looked at her long and hard before nodding. This was to be his daughter-in-law. He hoped he didn't regret granting her his son's hand in marriage.

Míril took hold of the standard and bowed. She furled it back up to hide it until she was ready to present it to Aragorn. House Telcontar and House Fëanoriel would be joined not only by union through adoption, but soon by blood when Arwen married Aragorn and Míril married Elrohir.

"We also brought you new clothes for battle, crafted by the elves," Celeborn told her and Galadriel took out a large pack.

She drew out a tunic of black and red, reminiscent of the standard's sigil. A large black cloak with the double star and tongue of fire also she gave to Miril. She took hold of the cloak and the tunic. She would treasure these always.

"Thank you my Lords, my Lady. Thank you." She bowed down to them.

Galadriel took hold of her hand. "You must carry the burden of Fëanor's blood, this is true. And I fear the Silmaril is not far off. Keep these as reminders that the House of Fëanor was not always evil. Great deeds were performed by those elven Lords. You can achieve that as well, without the kinslaying."

Míril nodded immediately.

"Now," Galadriel smiled softly, "Get to bed. I'm sure you are tired from your ride. Reveal your sigil to no one, not even my grandsons, before you have pledged it in service to Aragorn in a week's time."

Míril agreed and said goodnight to the elven Lords and Lady. She retired to bed, eager to get rest.

They rested in Édoras for two days, during which time Éomer was formally crowned King of Rohan. Once two days was up, the elven host and a small company of Rohirrim set out towards Minas Tirith. Thanks to the smaller host this time, they made the trip in four days instead of five. Despite pestering from the Twins, Miril refused to show them the standard of her house that the Galadhrim had made for her. Not until they rode up the great road through Minas Tirith. It was just her and the twins. The rest of the host stayed beyond the walls on the Pelennor Field until the time of the wedding. But Aragorn was eagerly awaiting them in the throne room. She cared her standard, still furled, and drew her sword as she knelt before her king.

"Rise, my friend," Aragorn nodded. "What is that you bear?"

"The lady Galadriel has sewn for me a sigil for my house which she had named House Fëanoriel. I wish to pledge my colors to you officially." Miril stood and looked at Aragorn, Faramir standing beside him.

"You may unfurl your banner, Miril of the House Fëanoriel. I accept it as one of my own." Aragorn gestured for her to let it fly.

She nodded and released the banner. It opened and showed her double star and tongue of fire sigil of her house. The star was for the House of Elrond through Elrohir and the tongue of fire for Fëanor's house. Aragorn nodded and gestured for Faramir to take the standard and place it beside his own on the wall.

"Forever it shall fly beside mine, my friend. Together we shall fight evil and restore peace to Middle Earth," Aragorn smiled. "I accept your pledge, Miril Fëanoriel."

The ceremony over, Aragorn and Faramir went up to the Twins and Miril. They spoke of the coming wedding. It would happen tomorrow.

"Aragorn, my friend," Elrohir smiled, pulling him aside. "My father has granted me permission to wed Míril. May we perform the ceremony quietly after yours, tomorrow?"

Aragorn smiled wide and grabbed Elrohir's shoulder. "Of course, my friend! I am pleased for the two of you! This is glad tidings indeed."

Míril was talking to Faramir and Elladan when Gandalf came in followed by Pippin and Merry. They looked in awe upon the standard of House Fëanoriel that stood now next to House Telcontar's banner. Gandalf smiled knowingly as he saw it.

"The age of redemption for the House of Fëanor is at hand, Míril Lôminzil Fëanoriel. Embrace it, enjoy it. But do not forget that it is a dangerous road you travel down." He spoke to her quietly. "And never forget that the Silmaril does not belong to you, if you find it. It is not yours."

Míril nodded. "Yes, Mithrandir."

"Good!" Gandalf laughed. "Good. So, the marriage is for tomorrow then? Yours and Aragorn both!"

"Indeed," Aragorn smiled. "Indeed it is. With the recovery and planting of the new White Tree, I have solidified my right as King of the Reunited Kingdom."

"You found a sapling of Nimloth, then?" she asked excitedly. "Excellent!"


	71. Joining of Houses

When Míril awoke the next morning, she got up and found breakfast delivered to her by Elumeril. It was quick and simple, for the weddings were in just a few hours. As she ate, Elumeril did her hair in a fancy braid and placed several gemstones in the crisscrosses.

"Have you chosen a dress yet, my lady?" Elumeril asked her happily.

Míril nodded. "I decided on the red one last night. Red with silver lace?"

"Excellent choice, if I may say so," the nine year old agreed as she finished with Míril's hair. "Well, we should get you in it."

Míril agreed. She went over to where she's hung the dress last night and undid the back. Stepping into it, she bent down so Elumeril could tie it for her. As the young servant did the back, Míril smiled in excitement. She was looking forward to seeing Arwen's wedding gown later. And Aragorn and Elrohir's best clothes as well.

"There," Elumeril nodded. "All done. Now just for your circlet."

Míril bent her head down so the girl could place it on her hear correctly. Once it was fixed atop her head, she stood up and thanked the servant for her help.

"How long until I am to head down?" Míril asked Elumeril.

The girl looked out the window. The sun was shining through.

"Very soon, my lady. I would suggest heading down in a few minutes." Elumeril bowed as she left the chambers.

The half-elf searched her drawer for a necklace to wear. Inside she found a simple yet elegant silver necklace that had belonged to Boromir and Faramir's mother. Now that she was finally ready, she slipped on her silver sandals and left the chambers. In the throne room she found Aragorn in his kingly attire standing and sweating. The Sons of Elrond were nowhere to be seen. Likely they were to process in with their father and sister and the other elves. Faramir was there with Eowyn, the two holding hands as they too were now engaged and were to be wedded sometime before King Éomer left the city. Gandalf was there also, standing confidently like the wise, old wizard he was. He nodded when Míril came down the stairs, walking over to her and handing her Aragorn's standard.

"You are still his standard bearer, are you not?" Gandalf asked her quickly. "Take it. You must process in first and stand beside him on his left. Arwen shall stand to his right."

Míril nodded quickly and held the large standard. It obscured her face and much of her upper body. She was glad of this as it would conceal her until her wedding to Elrohir afterwards.

 _Her wedding_! Even just thinking about it made her giddy. She was very excited, and a little nervous, but mostly excited. But first she had to get through the more important event, the marriage of King Elessar, her ruler and adopted uncle.

Gandalf ordered everyone line up. Faramir and Éowyn would go first, followed by Gandalf, then Míril, and then finally Aragorn. Trumpets blared and the doors of the throne room opened. The little group moved forward out onto the steps. Hundreds of townsfolk were there to watch, and the entire street through the city was lined with citizens wanting to catch a glimpse of their new queen.

Gandalf stood to the left of Míril who stood to the left of Aragorn. He made his way behind him when the elven host approached. First came Galadriel and Celeborn, arrayed in their finest clothes. Éomer and Prince Imrahil, both standing next to Faramir and Eowyn, were dumb struck. Legolas and Gimli, standing next to Éomer in turn, smiled at their reactions. Gimli was content to watch the Lady's clear, immaculate movements. Galadriel and Celeborn went to stand on the right side of Aragorn after each party had bowed to the other.

Behind them went Elladan and Elrohir, both dressed to the nines, Elladan bearing the Standard of Elrond. They were clad in grey and black, their shining grey cloaks complimenting the stars they each wore on their clasps. Their circlets were set upon their heads. As they bowed to Aragorn, and he bowed back, Elrohir resisted the urge to look past the standard and see Míril. It would have to wait. They went to stand beside their grandparents.

At last, Elrond came escorting his daughter Arwen. She smiled at Aragorn and he smiled back. Elrond bowed before Aragorn and handed her off.

"Keep her well." Elrond said. "She is under your protection now."

"Of course, my Lord." Aragorn bowed.

Elrond joined his sons. The wedding vows were exchanged, Gandalf performing the ceremony. It didn't take long, and soon Arwen and Aragorn were locked in a kiss that rivaled that of any that came before. Cries of Arwen and Elessar were raised by the townsfolk. Great cheers went up. The people had a queen, and they loved her already. With the ceremony complete, all the people of importance went inside the throne room for the next ceremony.

This time, Galadriel decided to hold the standard of House Fëanoriel, as she was of similar blood as Míril. Elladan held the standard of Elrond still. Míril blushed as Aragorn took her arm and began leading her to where Elrohir and Gandalf were standing.

"I know it should have been your father," Aragorn whispered. "But I hope I am a worthy replacement."

She nodded and squeezed his hand. True, she wished beyond everything that Halbarad could've been the one to escort her to her marriage, but Aragorn meant much to her as well. As she walked forward, she locked eyes with the hobbits, with Legolas and Gimli, with Prince Imrahil and King Éomer, with Prince Faramir and Éowyn. She found herself locking eyes with Elrond and bowing her head to him in thanks, a gesture he returned. She found Arwen and Celeborn, too. But at last she had only eyes for her beloved, Elrohir.

Aragorn looked seriously at Elrohir before smiling.

"Do not do anything dumb, brother," Aragorn whispered to him. "She is my ward now, after all."

Elrohir smiled and nodded, taking Míril's hand in his from Lord Aragorn. He felt her shaking and smiled softly at her as they turned to Gandalf.

The vows were soon exchanged. Míril and Elrohir professed their eternal love for one another, and pledged the union of their Houses. Elrohir agreed to protect Míril with his life, and she with his. Finally, the moment came.

"You may kiss to complete the ceremony," Gandalf nodded.

Elrohir and Míril met each other half way and, to cheers from their companions, kissed and embraced. The marriage was complete, except for consummation which would wait until that night. Before then, there was to be a great feast held in honor of the two newly wedded couples.

"With the joining of Míril and Elrohir," Galadriel said, silencing everyone, "the three great Houses of the Noldor, and the three houses of the Edain, have been reunited. For through Elrohir, the blood of Finarfin and Fingolfin has been combined with Míril's Fëanorian blood. Also through Elrohir, the House of Hador and the House of Bëor for men are accounted for. From Míril, sole known relative of Lady Haleth of the Haladin, the third House of the Edain is represented." Galadriel smiled. "Thus will their children be part Maia, Vanyarin, Telerin, Noldorin, Haladin, Hadorin, and Bëorin. Truly noble children."

"Let us never forget," Aragorn agreed. "And now, let us feast."


	72. Last Goodbyes

The feast laid out was grand. All the great Lords and Ladies sat together along the table and course after course was brought out. The food was a mix of meats and vegetables, fruits and desserts. Evidently the kitchens of Minas Tirith had been hard at work all day preparing for this meal.

Gandalf sat at the head of the table, with Aragorn to his right and Míril to his left. Elrohir sat beside Míril and Arwen beside her husband. Galadriel and then Celeborn went beside Elrohir, with Elladan following after. For Aragorn's side, Elrond and Legolas and Gimli. Beside Gimli went Éomer while opposite him was Prince Imrahil. The four hobbits filled in the remaining seats, with Faramir and Eowyn at the very end in another place of honor.

The feast lasted several hours, the majority of which was spent talking between patrons. The joy in the room was palpable. The two newly wedded couples were chatting happily together with Gandalf. Galadriel noticed and smiled softly that Gimli and Éomer were discussing who was the more beautiful: Galadriel or Arwen. The elven leader shook her head and turned back to her conversation with her son in law.

"When do you plan to depart for Rivendell," Celeborn asked Elrond.

He paused and thought for a moment. "Tomorrow. I sense the hobbits must return soon to their land."

"I have sensed it as well," Galadriel agreed. "Something is amiss in the Shire."

Miril and Elladan and Elrohir were laughing together at something the latter twin had said. Aragorn and Arwen smiled at them and chuckled along.

Soon it was late and the feast ended. The two couples retreated to their rooms. Elrohir smiled at Miril and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear as he looked down at her.

"Your father would be very happy," Elrohir told her. "He would be so proud of you, _melda_."

She nodded. She knew that. She knew, deep down in her heart, that Halbarad was rejoicing this day too. With that, they went to bed. That night, the union between the Great Houses of the elves and Men was consummated, and would bear fruit in the coming year. Life, embodying the union, had taken root.

In the morning, they woke to the sun shining upon them. Miril snuggled closer to the barely awake Elrohir as she searched for more warmth. He smiled and embraced her.

"We should get up," he whispered to her after awhile. "Look how high the sun is."

"No."

"Do not forget, my father and grandparents, the hobbits, everyone is leaving today. We must be presentable in our finest to say farewell."

Miril shot up and rubbed her eyes. She knew in her heart that this would be the last time she laid eyes on the ring bearers in Middle Earth. Her heart sunk. She knew Galadriel wasn't ready to depart over the sea just yet, nor Gandalf, but they were leaving. Her place was here in Gondor with her foster uncle. The Ring-bearers were to reside in Rivendell for the foreseeable future until taking a swan ship over the sea.

Miril walked over to the closet and fished out her new Raiment of House Fëanoriel. She slipped into the black and red tunic, clasped the cloak with the heraldic device of her house around her neck, and slipped on her black boots. She strapped on Galmegil. On her chest she placed the brooch of Elrohir and on her head, her circlet.

Meanwhile Elrohir was putting on his finest, a grey and black and blue tunic with the crest of Elrond on it. He attached his grey cloak together with his star clasp. He placed is own circlet on last and together they walked out the door and down the stairs. As they left their room, Elumeril was walking up the stairs.

"My Lord, my Lady," Elumeril bowed, "The King wants you downstairs immediately for the farewell."

They nodded and Elumeril got out of their way so the couple could walk down the stairs. They passed her and came to the throne room after a few moments. There they found everyone dressed in their finest. They were the last to arrive, and most farewells had already been said.

Míril approached Galadriel and the tall, radiant elven woman looked down at her with a soft smile. She beckoned Míril to follow her and she took her aside.

"I have looked in the Mirror, Miril Fëanoriel," Galadriel whispered to her. "I have seen many hardships that may befall you, but I have also seen much joy."

Miril nodded with anticipation.

"I can sense in you new life," Galadriel smiled. "Treasure that life, for it is precious. Care for it. It is a new hope for the House of Fëanor. It will be the Reuniter."

Míril was stunned silent. She felt her body above where her uterus was and prayed thanksgiving to Eru. She was carrying new life within her, according to Galadriel. And Galadriel was rarely wrong, especially with the Mirror's help.

"But," Galadriel warned, "first you must face many trials. For I fear that your quest is only just beginning. You've had a respite, but more is to come. Take care of yourself and the unborn child within you."

Míril nodded and bowed. "Thank you, my lady. Thank you for everything you have done for me, I who do not deserve it."

Galadriel took her hands. "We are family, little one. I wish to see you flourish and Middle Earth be blessed because you live. I wish to see the House of Fëanor redeemed. For while I never liked him, he was driven insane by grief to the demise of many. His sons, bound by a terrible Oath taken in haste and anger, were not all always evil. They were good once."

Míril nodded. The two women returned to the group and Míril said farewell to the others.

"My Lord," she bowed to Elrond.

Elrond smiled softly and shook his head. "You are family, Míril. You need not bow."

She smiled in surprise and nodded.

Elrond continued, "You are truly special, young one. I did not always approve of your presence in Rivendell, this is true, but now I am proud to call you my daughter in union. Elrohir is lucky to have you."

She replied quickly, "My Lord, you have always been an inspiration in my life. You took me in in my darkest hours as a child. And you gave me your son in marriage. I can never thank you enough."

Elrond leaned in, "Find Maglor. For he raised me from childhood and is dear to me. Redeem him, if you can. Take this and show it to him."

Miril was handed a stone with a carving of a star. It fit in the palm of her hand. She looked at it before nodding to Elrond.

"I shall. Thank you, again." She embraced Elrond and then moved on to the hobbits.

Pippin and Merry frowned when they saw her come over. They had grown close to her the short time they had traveled together.

She knelt down and hugged them both. "Do not keep growing taller, or someday you'll be as tall as me!"

The hobbits laughed. Pippin wiped his eyes.

"I do not like goodbyes," he said.

Míril nodded. "Neither do I. Aragorn has forbidden all citizens of the Reunited Kingdom from entering the Shire, but perhaps someday we shall meet again. After all, you cannot separate friends forever."

She hugged them once more. Then she moved to Gandalf.

She openly began to cry when she came to him. "Why must you leave, Mithrandir."

He smiled softly at her and embraced her. "Do not fear, little one. You will be fine without me. My time in Middle Earth is over. I have seen the defeat of the Lieutenant of Morgoth. That was my task. I must now return home to Valinor."

Míril cried but nodded. She was still concerned; who was to be her confidant, who was to guide her if Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf all left her?

"I shall do my best," Míril sniffled. "I will protect this peace with my life."

"Never forget," Gandalf whispered to her. "The Silmaril belongs in Valinor. It is not yours. Send it over the sea if you find it. Do not claim it as your own."

She nodded. Of course she wouldn't claim it. But she didn't realize the real danger posed by that gem.

By the time she had said her farewells to everyone, she was the last. Finally Aragorn nodded to the door wardens and the throne room doors swung open.

"Farewell, my friends.". Aragorn waved to them as they left, tears on his face. "Farewell. Stay safe on your journey home."

Legolas and Gimli were leaving temporarily. They were to journey home together by way of Glittering Caves at Helm's Deep and Fangorn Forest before parting and gathering hosts of their people to return to Gondor. The dwarves of the Lonely Mountain were needed to fix the gates and Osgiliath while the elves were to help restore Ithilien to good health. But at least they would be back someday. The others probably would not.


	73. A New Tale

**PART TWO: The Return**

_"Deeds will be no less valiant because they go unpraised."_

_\- Aragon, JRR Tolkien, Lord of the Rings_

 

 

It was several weeks later that Míril finally had to face her destiny. It was a morning in June and Aragorn, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, and Míril were eating breakfast together in their private dining hall. Two door wardens stood on either side of the large doors minding their own business.

"This is quite good," Elladan commented as he swallowed a bite. "What is it?"

"Some kind of pheasant sent here from Faramir in Ithilien," Aragorn replied as he too took a bite.

Míril nodded. "How are they doing. Eowyn and Faramir, I mean?"

"Eowyn sent me a letter a few days ago." Arwen smiled. "Apparently they're doing quite well!"

"Good!" Míril nodded. "Good."

Suddenly they were interrupted as the doors swung open and in stumbled a man, covered in blood and cuts. He was clearly a Knight of Dol Amroth. His armor showed as much.

Everyone at the table immediately shot up in their seats. Aragorn and the Twins raced over while Miril pushed Arwen behind her to protect the queen in case something more sinister came through the door after him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Aragorn asked in surprise. "Speak, Knight of Dol Amroth!"

As soon as the knight caught sight of King Aragorn, something in him changed. His eyes went black, jet black. He stood taller and drew his sword. A chilling voice came out of his mouth, an unearthly voice.

"Lap dog of the West," he said, "That is what you are. You no longer have the Grey Wizard to protect you, Elfstone. We have grown strong in the South. You will not be able to withstand us. Bow to our black magic, ranger of the North."

A wisp of black magic flew from his outstretched hand. Aragorn drew Anduril just in time and blocked the shot of magic.

"With who am I speaking?" Aragorn demanded. "Who threatens me?"

The possessed knight laughed. "Two of Five. The Two forgotten. But we will be forgotten no more. Beware, Elfstone, beware old Thorongil. Sauron may be gone, but he was not the only Maia in Middle Earth."

Aragorn approached the Knight of Dol Amroth with his sword raised, "Release this man!"

The knight cackled maniacally. Suddenly a new voice came out of him. It was small and childlike, and distinctly female.

"Is the child of Caranthir there as well, Elfstone?" the knight said in the girl's voice. "Tell her that resistance is futile. She will bow to me, to us."

Miril was stunned silent. The girl. It must be the one from the Mirror. She drew Galmegil and approached the knight.

"Tell me yourself, child of darkness. I have seen your face," Míril cried. "I do not fear you!"

The knight laughed. "You should."

"Enough! He has delivered your messages." shouted Aragorn. "Release this man!"

The knight dropped to the ground, his eyes going purely white. He was not moving or breathing. Elladan and Elrohir knelt beside him and felt for a pulse, but there was none. He was dead.

"What was that?" Elrohir asked as he closed the man's eyes.

Aragorn sighed. "I do not know."

Míril narrowed her eyes and sheathed her sword. "He addressed you as Thorongil, Aragorn. He knew you as you were known in the South."

"Indeed he did." Aragorn paused. "Come. To my inner chamber we must to to discuss this. Guards, deal with the body reverently. He knew not what he was doing."

The five royals left the dining hall and retreat up many stairs to the Royal Chambers. Once there, some sat, some stood. But all were in deep contemplation. Míril paced in front of the door, deep in thought and hardly paying attention.

We need to send someone to Dol Amroth. This is certain." Aragorn insisted. "The three of you should go."

Elladan nodded. "Of course. When should we leave?"

"As soon as you can be ready.". Aragorn turned to Míril. "Miril. Recount what you saw in the Mirror. Obviously you know something."

"Hmm?" She jerked around and stopped her pacing.

"What do you know of what's going on?" Aragorn asked her again.

Míril nodded. "The mirror told me much. If you recall, the words spoken to me through it were "When at once the servant of the Black Foe is gone, three must set forth. Find the oath breaker and retrieve the jewel at last. Face the darkness that will rise in the South and East with the light of Valinor"."

"What about the young girl's voice. Why did that sound familiar?" Arwen asked her.

Míril closed her eyes. "Back when we were in Rohan, I had a nightmare. There was a child of Haradrim decent. She was engulfed by darkness and used it as a weapon. I blocked the magic with the Silmaril before…. Before a giant spider took it and my hand."

Aragorn mulled over her words. He wondered what it meant. It was no mystery to him who the three must have meant: Míril, Elrohir, and Elladan. But the rest of the prophecy: find Maglor and the Silmaril, defeat a new foe in the South. It was simple, yet incredible dangerous.

"The Mirror showed you Maglor was in the Mountains, yes?" Aragorn asked her.

Míril nodded. "Indeed. Though which mountains, I do not know."

Aragorn scratched his chin. "Go to Dol Amroth. If all is alright, spend time in their archives. We will search here. Return within three weeks. If anything is amiss, deal with it or send for help."

The three half-elves nodded to him. They went from the room to dress in traveling clothes and packed bags with a few days worth of food. Míril put on a black and grey tunic and strapped her cloak on. Elrohir and Elladan dressed as well and soon all three met at the stables. Míril was saddling Bruidal when the Twins showed up and prepared their own horses.

Once saddled, they mounted up and trotted down the streets of Minas Tirith and out onto the Pelennor Fields. They crossed Anduin at Osgiliath and were pleased to find that cleanup and restoration was going well there. Míril remained silent for most of the trip. When they reached half way at nightfall, they rested beneath some trees and ate dinner. Tomorrow they would reach Dol Amroth and find Prince Imrahil. And hopefully they would find some answers.


	74. Dol Amroth

They started off early the next morning. The sun rose in a pink and blue sky, casting rays of light across the plains. Shadows from the trees they had taken shelter near danced around their feet as they ate quickly and saddled their horses. Bruidal pawed impatiently at the ground, eager to be off. He could feel his rider's stress and anticipation.

"Should reach the harbors by mid to late afternoon," Elladan said as they mounted up.

Míril nodded. "Let's hope we find it still in good standing."

"Surely Prince Imrahil would have sent word if it was otherwise," Elrohir pointed out. "Or we would've gotten word some other way from visitors and travelers."

"Probably," Míril agreed with him to a certain extent. "But perhaps not."

They galloped off towards Dol Amroth. Across the green plains they flew on their horses. Míril was always one stride ahead of the Twins. Bruidal loved to run over the plains and was more than willing to outpace the horses of Elladan and Elrohir. The wind blew through her brown hair and her cloak billowed behind her.

Hours went by. They stopped for a small lunch and then continued on in silence. They were approaching the coast. Soon, white towers with blue and white flags appeared in view. They were nearing Dol Amroth. Soon enough they approached the city gate. Beneath their feet was white and grey cobblestones and their horses' hooves clip-clopped on the stones. They entered the city and people on the streets were quick to move out of their way upon seeing the royal circlets atop the newcomers' heads.

The wind was blowing around them, tossing the flags this way and that. The three messengers cantered through the streets until they came upon the Royal Houses. There, they dismounted and gave their horses to servants.

"Is Prince Imrahil in?" Míril asked a young boy servant who was waiting around for a job to do.

The boy nodded, his blonde, curly hair tossing with the movement. "Yes, lady. Come with me!"

The Twins and Míril followed behind the boy as he took them into the Main House. He told them to wait with the guards in the room while he fetched the Prince. They waited patiently. Míril looked around her at the tapestries that hung from the wall, most all of them in blues and whites.

Soon, Prince Imrahil himself arrived before them. He had on white and blue as were Dol Amroth's colors. When he saw them, he bowed his head in greeting.

"My friends!" He smiled. "What brings you here to the South?"

"A matter we should discuss in private," Miril said, glancing around.

Imrahil grew grave and nodded. "Follow me."

The Twins, Miril, and Imrahil made their way through the citadel and up a flight of stairs to the Prince's personal chambers. There he gestured for them to sit at his round table. He joined them once all were seated.

"Speak freely now, my friends. What news from the Tower of Guard do you bring hither?" Imrahil looked at them intently.

"Several days ago, a man dressed as one of your knights came to Minas Tirith," Miril began. "Tall, blonde, blue eyed. Very strong."

"He intruded upon us, taking us by surprise as we dined," Elrohir interjected.

Miril nodded and continued. "He was bloodied and beat, but as soon as he laid eyes on Aragorn, he drew his sword and his voice became unnatural. His eyes became black as night, even the whites."

"A Knight of Dol Amroth you say?" Imrahil leaned forward. "Blonde?"

"Indeed," Elladan affirmed the Prince. "You knew him?"

"Yes," Prince Imrahil nodded. "His name was Hareth. He never returned from where he was sent in Mordor to help finish off the Enemy after the destruction of the Ring. We all assumed he was dead."

"Well that would explain how he came in contact with the new Enemy who managed to possess his mind." Miril mused it over.

"Indeed," Imrahil nodded. "Where is he now?"

"Dead." Miril sadly replied, hanging her head. "He was killed by whoever and whatever controlled him."

"Hareth was a good man, an honorable soldier. He will be missed," said Prince Imrahil. "Now. What can I offer you here to help with this mysterious threat. Dol Amroth is at your service."

Miril nodded and spoke. "We need access to your archives. We have a lead on something that might help us out."

"By all means. Dol Amroth's archives are open to each of you." Imrahil stood up from the round, oaken table. "Come. I'll show them to you."

They all followed him out and down the stairs from the Prince's chambers. They passed the throne room and out into the large courtyard. Across the way was a building with many white columns outside. Imrahil made for that structure. As they passed through the white birch wood doors, the smell of old parchment and ink floated towards them. Great stairs led down in a large spiral, and some also led upwards above their heads.

"Berethon," Imrahil called over to a middle aged man. "Berethon. These three are to be given free reign and whatever help they require."

"Of course, my Lord," the man bowed to the Prince. "What can I do for you?"

Imrahil left the three travelers with the man in the library. Miril approached Berethon first.

"We need information on the White Mountains," she said. "Any information about elves, as well."

"Elves and the White Mountains, eh?" He nodded. "Well you are certainly going to need the recorded story of Nimrodel, Mithrellas, and Amroth, our namesake."

She was vaguely familiar with the tale. The man led them down the stairs to a room surrounded by books and scrolls. A large table was on one end and he sat the three half elves down there while he searched for material.

The more she looked around her while in Dol Amroth, the more she felt her prophecy coming to fulfillment. Something about the place had her on edge. But now that she had something to do, she threw herself into her work.

" _Founded in the Third Age by Galador, son of Imrazor and Mithrellas of Lothlorien, Dol Amroth has been a hub of Southern Gondor for a long time. Most famous for its musicians and knights, the City of Swans is the largest fiefdom in Belfalas."_

Interesting, but not very important. Not except the mention of Mithrellas of Lothlorien. Miril vaguely knew the name but could not place it. Mithrellas. What was an elf of Lothlorien doing in Dol Amroth? She dug through the various papers and scrolls and books for more information. That's when she fell upon the Lay of Nimrodel recorded on a piece of parchment.

The Lay of Nimrodel was a well known verse in the Silvan lands of Lothlorien and Mirkwood. It told of the voyage across the lands for Amroth, King of Lothlorien before Galadriel and Celeborn, and Nimrodel, his beloved elf of Silvan decent. They traveled together to the sea to leave Middle Earth but were separate in the White Mountains.

The next thing Miril searched for was mentions of Nimrodel. She found much, especially regarding one of her companions, Mithrellas. According to legend, Mithrellas and Nimrodel both were lost in the White Mountains, but while Nimrodel was never seen again in Middle Earth, Mithrellas found her way eventually to the Land of Southern Gondor where she met Imrazor, fell in love, and bore Galador, first Prince of Dol Amroth.


	75. Finding Clues

"Look at this," Miril murmured as she found a manuscript page written in Silvan with Tengwar script.

She stood from the table she'd been sitting at and walked over with it to where the twins dug through their own crinckly stacks of old parchment. Both sons of Elrond looked up at her. Miril placed the document before them.

"Nimrodel never made her way to Do Amroth," Míril explained, gesturing to the document before her.

Elladan nodded. "Indeed. We know of the tale. Most elflings learn it, especially as we visited Lothlorien often."

"But _why_ did she never reach here? Did Mithrellas never tell?" Míril grinned excited. "What is this then?"

The three half elves gazed at the picture on the document before them. On the side was a small sketch of a wooden shack amidst trees. The document was in Silvan.

"I am not well versed in reading old Silvan language," Míril frowned. "But you two must be."

"It says this." Elrohir nodded as he stopped over it.

* * *

" _I was walking with Nimrodel when we first came across it. A house in the woods, unlike anything we'd come to know before. Beside it was a cave, dark, deep. Nimrodel desired to stay. I urged against it, feeling it would be wise to keep moving. Yet my lady insisted. She knocked on the cottage door and an old elf answered. His hand was burned beyond use and his face tired. He agreed to let us stay the night._

" _When I awoke the next day, the man, who refused to tell us his name, was gone. Nimrodel was gone too, having left a note describing how she had gone to inspect the cave upon finding our host missing._

" _I stayed in that place for many days but she never returned. I am unsure if she merely left without me, or if she is truly lost. The people in this settlement seem to think she never arrived but I find this difficult to believe. My lady was a strong maiden. She could hold her own if she wished._

" _As for the elf in the shack, I never saw him again. I think perhaps he was waiting until we left to return. He seemed rather skittish."_

* * *

Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir were stunned silent. Some of it made sense. Other parts just warranted more questions. One thing they felt for sure was true was that Maglor was in the White Mountains.

"We must return to Minas Tirith," Elladan insisted. "We must tell Aragorn of what we found."

"Agreed." Elrohir nodded emphatically. "Míril. He needs to know."

Míril stood hesitantly. She knew they spoke truly. Yet the urge to discover her distant relative was overwhelming. She wished to head out right away to find him.

She sighed. "Very well. We will spend the night here and leave in the morning?"

Her two companions agreed. Together they left the lore houses and climbed back to the surface. It was dark out. Míril hadn't realized how long they'd been down there. She made her way with the twins into the Royal house to the guest rooms on the ground floor. The three of them took two rooms, Míril and Elrohir in one, Elladan in the other. They were all exhausted and eager to sleep.

"I know you wish to find him, _melda_ ," Elrohir soothed as he ran a hand through her hair, lying beside her, "but we must be cautious. He could be dangerous."

With a sigh, Míril nodded, snuggling closer to her partner. "I know."

They fell asleep like this, each comforted by the sound of the other's breathing and heartbeat. Míril's dreams were filled with screaming and the cries if babies, towns being set alight with blue fire. Darkness engulfed the ground and killed the plants. But the strangest thing of all was that these were towns like she had never seen before. They reminded her of the town's Aragorn had told her about in tales of of the South as a child before bed. Cities of southern men, in Harad and Khand. The men and women were dark skinned also, just like the Haradrim and Easterlings she had fought.

When she awoke the next morning, she was not the least bit surprised to find Elrohir already up and changed for the day. He looked at her in concern.

"You tossed and turned all night. Are you alright?" He tossed her the bag she had brought which held her travel clothes.

"I had horrible dreams." She shook her head but refused to continue or delve further into them. "Is your brother up?"

Elrohir sighed at her silence but shrugged. "I will check."

He left the room as Miril changed and came back with his brother alongside him. She packed up her bags and told them she was ready to leave, but that before they got on the road, there was someone she needed to see.

"Idril is here as Captain of the Guard," Miril reminded them. "I wish to bring her up to speed."

Elladan nodded and agreed that would be a good idea. "We will find Prince Imrahil, you go find Idril."

Miril carried her bags as she left the guesthouse and traveled through the city of Dol Amroth. It really was quite beautiful, almost like a cross between Minas Tirith and the Grey Havens. She supposed this made sense if Mithrellas really had helped found the city with Imrazor. It had an elf's touch, should could tell.

The streets were white cobble and fountains were strategically placed along the walkways. Purple flowering vines wound their way up miniature columns, adding green and purple to the white of the stonework. As Miril asked directions from a Knight, she was directed around to a path that ran parallel to the cliff face. The sound of the crashing waves below her and the sight of the sea was incredible. She heard the cry of the gulls, and for a moment she almost felt like she could hear a voice in the water. It was like something out of a dream, but she couldn't quite decipher it. This had happened to her on more than one occasion, but it was a stronger sensation by the sea.

Finally the path wound its way to a large, flat training ground surrounded by barracks and weapons buildings. Idril stood in the center, clad in armor, sparing with a recruit. Miril watched with a smile as her friend trained the young man. Once the spar was over and Idril victorious, Miril clapped.

"Very good, my friend. Very good," she told the woman.

Idril turned around and faced her in surprise. "Miril? What are you doing in Dol Amroth?"

"That is not for all ears, unfortunately," she murmured to the woman as they drew near one another. "Come. Let us go inside and I will tell you some of the tale."


	76. Children of Imrahil

Miril guided Idril inside the guardhouse and then Idril showed her to an upper room that would be quiet and suit their purposes. The two women sat down at a table and Idril waited expectantly for her friend to continue.

"Many days ago, a lost Swan Knight of Dol Amroth came to us while we supped in Minas Tirith. He drew his weapon on Lord Aragorn and became possessed by some kind of black magic. He delivered a message that I will not go into." Miril paused for breath before continuing. "All you need know is it was a threat to our King. We came down here to investigate that threat."

"The Knights are at our lord's service, you know that," Idril insisted. "I'm sure Prince Imrahil has told you that, however."

"Indeed." Miril flashed a small smile. "They are a renowned group after all and their service may be needed soon enough."

Idril nodded emphatically. "They'll be ready."

Miril bid farewell to her friend and left the training grounds and barracks. She walked up the beautiful path once more, listening again to the sound of the crashing waves on the stone cliffs. She made her way through the city to the Main House of Royal Houses. Instead of finding the twins, however, she found a woman with wavy dark hair in a decorative blue dress and white sandals. She was speaking to one of the Knights who stood beside the empty seat where Imrahil took up his throne. The woman looked up upon Miril's entry and frowned slightly.

"Excuse me, my lady," Miril began, "Do you know where the Prince is?"

"My father is in his chambers," said the woman as she walked over. "I am Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil. You are?"

"Miril, of the House Feanoriel, ward of King Elessar," she looked Lothiriel up and down. The woman certainly was pretty.

Lothiriel looked at her in surprise. "What brings you to Dol Amroth, lady?"

"My two companions and I are on a mission for King Elessar," she responded, shifting her feet. "Unfortunately we can speak of it to no one but your father. I must speak to him."

"Our father is occupied at the moment," a man said, tall, dark haired, accompanied by another man. "You can address your complaints to me."

"This is Lady Miril, ward of King Elessar," Lothiriel explained to the two newcomers, presumably brothers of hers. "Miril, these are two of my brothers, Elphir and Amrothos."

"Ah, excuse my tone, Lady Miril," Elphir apologized. "I did not know we were dealing with such a distinguished guest. Are you then accompanying the two half elves, brothers of our queen, who are in concert with our father?"

Miril smiled. "Yes, good sir, I am."

"Ah, Miril," a voice said coming from the top of a set of stairs, "I see you have met three of my four children."

She smiled up at Prince Imrahil as he and the Twins came down the stairs. "Indeed, sir."

"I hope they didn't cause you too much trouble," Imrahil smiled with a short laugh.

Miril glanced at Elphir and smiled but shook her head at the prince. "Not at all."

The seven royals stood in a circle and Miril shifted from what foot to the other. Elrohir caught her eye and gave a slight nod before turning to Prince Imrahil.

"We must be going, I'm afraid. Lord Aragorn will be waiting for us." Elrohir gestured to the door with his left hand. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Any time." Prince Imrahil nodded. "Best of luck on your journey home. Give your regards to Aragorn when you see him."

The three half elves bowed and said farewell. Lothiriel offered to show them to the stables and out of the city. Miril thought this was somewhat odd, for a woman of royal blood like her to do. A woman of the House of Dol Amroth was about as royal as one got without being of the House of Elros in Minas Tirith, or of Hurin as one of the stewards. Nevertheless, the woman showed them to the stables as she said she would.

"Miril," she asked quietly after hesitating. "Do you know King Eomer of Rohan?"

"Indeed," Miril nodded to her in confusion. "Why do you ask?"

Lothiriel hesitated again before continuing. "I am betrothed to him in marriage. We are to join our houses together at the closing of the year."

"I see," she nodded. "Well, Lord Eomer is a kind man, passionate and devoted to his people and loved ones. You will do fine with him as a husband."

She shook her head and sighed. "It is good to hear, yet I wish I could get to know him before our wedding. I am set to travel to Rohan in a few weeks to formally meet him, but I am staying only for a short while."

Miril had no idea what to say. She understood why Lothiriel and Eomer were being paired together; it made for a stronger alliance between Rohan and Gondor. With the marriage of Eowyn and Faramir, it was strong, but with Lothiriel and Eomer it would be stronger. The two kingdoms would be forever intertwined.

"Think of it as you are doing it for the good of your people," Miril offered. "Does that help?"

"That is my one comfort, yes," the other woman agreed.

At last they arrived at the stables. Stable hands saddled the three steeds while they bid farewell to Lothiriel. Bruidal was eager to get going as Miril mounted her, and together they pranced down the cobble path and out of the city. Beside her, Elladan and Elrohir kept up.

"I should wish to visit the shores of their sea sometime," Miril sighed. "I caught glimpses of it from high above on the cliff and heard the gulls singing."

Elladan nodded. "I am sure there will be time someday."

Riding down the road that led to Minas Tirith, still a day and a half away, they felt the wind blow through their hair and watched the clouds pass by overhead. Miril could not help but wonder what it was the sea had been trying to say to her. For indeed the more she poured over it, the more she felt that it had been speaking.


	77. Begin Again

As Miril and the twins walked up the stone streets of Minas Tirith having stabled their horses already, they passed a group of children playing. Miril recognized one of them Bergil, son of Beregond. She was surprised to see him here as he had moved along with the rest of his family to Ithilien when Faramir moved there.

"Bergil," Miril waved, walking over to him. "Bergil, what are you doing here?"

"Lady Miril!" the boy stopped along with the four other children who watched in awe as the ward of King Elessar stopped to talk to one of their friends. "My father is here with Prince Faramir, of course!"

"Prince Faramir and Lady Eowyn are here?"

Bergil nodded. "Yes, my lady. Father let my brother and I come to visit my friends!"

"I don't believe I've met your brother." Miril smiled.

"Borlas is my name," squeaked a boy of maybe six years old. "Are you _really_ Lady Miril Fëanoriel?"

Miril chuckled lightly. "Indeed I am. And this is my husband, Prince Elrohir, and his brother Prince Elladan. They are the Queen's brothers."

All the children gasped and gaped at the two half-elven princes. A girl of short stature and dark hair, the only girl of the group, looked at all three of them and blurted, "You're so pretty."

Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir all laughed, causing the girl to blush.

"What is your name?" Miril asked

The little girl downcast her eyes, "Elenya, my lady."

Elrohir nodded. "A good name. A word for the first day of the week in my tongue."

Elenya smiled and looked at him, happy to have received the praise of the prince. Miril took off one of her bracelets and handed it to the girl.

"Take it, Elenya. May it always remind you to speak your mind."

The girl gasped and took it gently in her hands. She thanked Miril profusely before bowing and remaining quiet as she carefully examined the bracelet in her hands. Meanwhile, Miril and the twins bid farewell to the other children and continued their walk up through the streets.

"They are very cute," Elrohir laughed. "That girl especially."

"Indeed," Miril nodded to him. "I am surprised that Bergil is here, though. As he said, it means Faramir at least is here as well. This bodes ill."

"We shall see soon enough," Elladan commented as they walked through the doors to the citadel.

The guards were standing at attention and nodded to the royals as they walked through. The first person they came across was Miril's maidservant. She stopped her quickly.

"Elumeril," Miril said, "where is Lord Aragorn?"

"King Elessar is in the inner room with the Queen, Prince Faramir, and Lady Eowyn," Elumeril bowed to them. "Come, I shall take you there."

The three half-elves followed Elumeril through a hallway and down a second corridor. Eventually she came to a wooden door. Beregond and another guard stood to either side of the entrance. Elumeril nodded to them.

"The Lady Miril and Lords Elladan and Elrohir are here. They are requesting to be let in." Elumeril gestured behind her to them.

Beregond nodded and knocked on the door before opening it. "Sorry to disturb you my lords and ladies, but the Lady Miril and Lords Elladan and Elrohir have arrived."

"Send them in!" Aragorn nodded with a small smile.

Miril, Elrohir, and Elladan went inside and the door closed behind them. As they walked in, they found Aragorn, Faramir, Eowyn, and Arwen all sitting at a table with documents before them. Aragorn nodded as they came in.

"Your journey took less time than expected," Aragorn told them. "For this I am grateful. What news do you bring from Dol Amroth?"

"Not much, I am afraid," Miril replied with a sigh. "They reported that the name of the Knight was Hareth and that he'd gone missing in southern Mordor. He had been sent in with several other companies to finish up cleaning that area out. He was presumed dead."

Faramir seemed very concerned. "Which part of Mordor, exactly?"

"Nurn, near the Mountains of Shadow south of the Sea of Nurnen and the border with Khand," Elladan replied. "I spoke with Prince Imrahil about that."

"There has been talk of other mysterious happenings there and in Khand according to Imrahil," Elrohir added. "He spoke to us about it a few hours before we left Dol Amroth. Apparently recent rumors had started spilling in of odd lights and strange noises observed by men who trade with Gondor and Harad and Khand."

Aragorn looked deeply troubled. "This is very disheartening. We must investigate, I am afraid."

"Send me, Lord," Miril quickly offered.

Aragorn smiled sadly. "I do not wish it, Miril. Your father would've wanted me to keep you safe now that he cannot."

Miril was about to object but Aragorn continued.

"Yet I fear it is your destiny to do this. This is your journey. The Ring was but a side note in the great deeds you will do."

Miril nodded with a smile, quivering with anticipation. She could do this. She had to be able to do this.

"I would ask who you would want to go with you," Aragorn smiled ruefully, "But my guess is they are standing right beside you."

Miril smiled at the twins as they quickly nodded. "You guess rightly, Aragorn. We will not fail you."

"Well you are not leaving right away," Aragorn held up his hand. "You must rest for a few days at least. I suggest you go to Dol Amroth again and trade with the men there who are familiar with Harad and Khand. Find suitable clothing so you are less conspicuous."

"Agreed," Elladan nodded. "We must do our best to come up with a suitable story for why we would be traveling to the Far South and East."

Aragorn smiled. "You will have many days to do so as you travel and as you rest here. Go now, wash and rest. We will bring you up to speed later."

The three half-elves nodded and left the room. As soon as the door was closed behind them she spun on her companions, anger and annoyance written all over her face.

"You didn't tell me about what you spoke to Imrahil of! Why did you not?!"

Elladan laughed. "Because what would you have done?"

"Insisted to ride off and stop it," Elrohir answered his brother.

Miril grunted in annoyance. "You two are exasperating!"


	78. Gossip

The three travelers went to bed early that night. When Miril awoke the next morning, she found Elrohir was no longer in bed. In fact, the place in the bed he usually occupied was cold, so he couldn't have left recently.

"Where'd he get to," she muttered, turning over to face the wall which contained the large window.

A light knock sounded at the door. Miril called for whoever it was to enter. It was Elumeril.

"Good morning, my lady," Elumeril smiled. "Shall we get you ready for the day?"

Miril sighed. "Must I?"

"I'm afraid so," the girl frowned. "The King called a meeting of the Council of Gondor while you were away which is supposed to meet today. That is why Prince Faramir is here, and Prince Imrahil arrived in the late hours of the night after summons reached him a day ago."

"Who else has arrived," Miril asked, standing and allowing Elumeril to dress her in a deep red dress with black accents. "Have the other lords come?"

"Indeed! Most all of them are coming. Lord Golasgil of Anfalas arrived early this morning and last I heard Lord Angbor was sighted alongside Lord Duinhir coming up the road to Minas Tirith." Elumeril paused. "How would you like your hair, my lady?"

"A braid is good enough," Miril smiled as she sat facing forward with her maidservant behind her. "What about the leaders from the North Kingdom?"

"The Shire has yet to select a representative," Elumeril replied as she began the braid. "But Lady Althea is still here to represent the remaining Rangers who are beginning the rebuild of Annuminas."

Miril smiled. Althea. The woman had been busy for the past month up in the Northern lands, organizing groups of rangers and using money that Aragorn sent for the rebuilding of the settlements of Annuminas and Tinnudir. They had to find raw materials as well as skilled craftsmen and laborers to begin the process in earnest. Miril would be glad to see her friend.

"Where are the Queen's brothers," Miril asked suddenly. "I had almost forgotten that Elrohir disappeared on me this morning."

Elumeril flashed a small smile, "Last I heard, they were dining with Queen Arwen for breakfast."

"How do you know all this, Elumeril?" Miril shook her head as the girl finished the braid and turned around to face her maidservant. "You certainly are well informed!"

"I have many friends among the servants, and servants talk," Elumeril admitted sheepishly. "Word gets around."

Miril laughed as she stood up and slipped on her black shoes. "Remind me never to divulge secrets to you, then."

Elumeril looked taken aback. "My lady! I would never betray your confidentiality. I promise!"

"I believe you," Miril nodded with a chuckle. "I was merely joking."

Elumeril looked unconvinced but nodded.

"When is the meeting of the Council supposed to take place?" Miril asked as she opened the door. "Is there time for me to grab a bite to eat?"

"Should be, my lady. I know that King Elessar wished to see you before the Council, however, so keep this in mind."

Miril nodded and thanked the girl, heading down the steps and into the main hallway of the Citadel. She made her way to the dining hall where she found that Aragorn was eating alongside Prince Imrahil and three other lords of distinguished names. There was Lord Golasgil of Anfalas, Lord Duinhir of Morthond, and Lord Angbor of Lamedon. The latter two were rather aged while Golasgil was younger. Miril had not formally met the three lords, but their reputation preceded them.

"Ah, Miril," Aragorn nodded. "Glad to see you up. Let me introduce Lords Angbor, Duinhir, and Golasgil."

"My lords," she curtseyed to them.

"My lords, this is my ward, Lady Miril of the House of Fëanoriel." Aragorn finished the introductions. "If you'll excuse us a moment, I must speak to her."

Aragorn rose from his seat and took Miril by the arm, guiding her out of the room. With the door closed behind them, he took her to a side passage and began to speak to her.

"The Council meeting is a formality that must be seen to, I am afraid. However with the votes of myself, Althea, Imrahil, and Faramir, along with yourself, it should go fine."

"What should, Aragorn?" Miril was utterly confused.

He sighed. "The Council must agree to send you South."

She looked at him in consternation. What was she hearing? There was a chance she might be forbidden from going?

"You do realize that even if they vote against it, that I will go to Harad and Khand anyways?"

Aragorn looked at her with a mix of frustration, understanding, and pity. "I know you think that, but if you do, you will be breaking a direct order from the Council of Gondor. That is essentially treason."

"Aragorn you are _king_. You have final say!" Miril was furious and did not understand his logic. "You can tell them to let us go!"

"This is true," Aragorn nodded. "This is true. But I have already done much without the Council's backing and I do not wish to appear as a tyrant. I wish to rule _for_ the people, not rule the people."

"You better hope they vote to let me go," Miril glared. "Because I will go no matter what, and you will have to stop me."

She stalked off to await the council summons. She was in brooding mode now and nothing would snap her out of it. Gondor was in danger, _Middle Earth_ was in danger. She would not let any petty politics get in the way. She would rebel against authority, even authority she loved, if it meant saving Middle Earth.

Aragorn, meanwhile, was regretting he'd said anything. There was no reason to believe they wouldn't get a majority vote. It was already heavily stacked in their favor as long as Imrahil voted alongside the King. There was no reason to believe they wouldn't get the movement approved of.


	79. The Council of Gondor

Miril walked into the meeting room slowly and pointedly. It was a large room with a round table in the center, around which ten places were set, yet only seven were filled. Aragorn, Imrahil, Faramir, Althea, Golasgil, Angbor, and Duinhir all sat wait for Miril to arrive. Miril took her place. The two empty seats were for two representatives who were unable to attend and forfeited their vote and counsel.

"Now that we are all here," Aragorn nodded. "I will explain why I call you each."

Miril looked at him expectantly along with the others.

He continued, "It has come to my attention that there is a growing threat in the South, particularly Harad and Khand. An attempt on my life was made a little over a week ago. We believe it to be supernatural and magical in origin, or something even more sinister."

"Are you alright, my lord," Golasgil asked in concern. "Were you harmed?"

"No." Aragorn shook his head. "I escaped unscathed thanks to the quick response of some assembled here."

They looked as he gestured to Miril. They both knew he was exaggerating her involvement in the matters, but she understood what he was trying to do so she went along with it. If the three here were unfamiliar and unsure of her, a woman who looked no older than twenty, they were much less likely to sanction her going off and saving the world.

Miril would also avoid revealing her pregnancy to them. Even Elrohir and Aragorn were unaware of this fact, and she planned to keep it that way until they were well on their way south and east. Nothing would keep her from completing her appointed task.

"So what do you intend to do, my lord," Duinhir asked expectantly.

Aragorn took a breath before continuing. "We have a lead. The person who attacked us was possessed. We believe he became possessed by this new threat in the Mountains of Shadow south of the Sea of Nurnen. I intend to send a small party there to investigate."

"Who, lord?" asked Angbor.

"Myself and the Queen's brothers, my lords. Is that not correct, lord Aragorn?" Miril answered for her friend and king.

The three men looked utterly unconvinced and overall entirely surprised.

"With all due respect, Lady Miril," Golasgil looked at her with skepticism. "How old are you? You looked barely older than an adolescent. Someone with more experience should go."

Aragorn nearly hid his face. Miril's grew bright red in anger. Her eyes set hard upon this man who was not very old himself.

"I am much older than my appearance would suggest, Lord Golasgil," she hissed at his name. "I am nearly forty years old. I was hunting orcs in the north while you were still crawling."

"Miril speaks truly," Althea jumped to her friend's aid. "Lady Miril has been a companion of mine for many years. She is a fine warrior and the best tracker I have had a privilege to know."

Angbor nodded. "This is all well and good, of course. But sending three people with elven blood down south could be a doomed sentence. They aren't fond of elven kind down there."

"Who would you send, then, Lord Angbor?" Aragorn asked him politely.

"My son Aeglin is an excellent tracker as well," suggested the lord. "I would be willing to send him for the protection of my king."

Golasgil was still silent in his seat, shamefully having been put in his place. Duinhir, Imrahil, and Faramir all opened their mouths to speak, but in the end it was Imrahil who spoke first.

"I for one am in favor of sending the half-elven lords and lady. Men of Gondor are hated even more than elven kind down in the South and East. With proper story, they just might pass as fugitives."

Duinhir narrowed his eyes in contemplation. "Send the two princes yes, but not the lady. She is not strong enough."

"How can you be certain," Faramir countered for her. "Have you seen her in battle? Have you bested her yourself? I for one believe that she and the sword she wields to be a particularly deadly combination that you would be frightened to see the other end of. Have more faith in her, Lord Duinhir. She is of a kin to your king after all. She is a Dunedain ranger!"

That shut the conversation up quite quickly. Aragorn nodded with a small smile.

"Thank you, Prince Faramir." He gestured to Miril. "It is decided then. If you will, Lady Miril, you will journey south and east to the far reaches of Middle Earth. Begin first in Mordor. With you will go Princes Elladan and Elrohir. You leave within the week."

Aragorn stood and so did they all after him. He walked out of the room and Miril, in defiance, went immediately after him, cutting off Lords Duinhir and Golasgil. The indignant expression on the former's face assured Miril, had she had any doubt, that she had made an enemy in that lord. No matter to her, though. If she survived this grand adventure, she would prove them all wrong a dozen times over.

At this point, she was just over a month and a half pregnant. She knew that the gestation period for elves was longer than that of men, so she assumed she still had nine or ten months before she was to give birth to their child. That gave plenty of time for their journey. After all, the ring journey took merely a year, and they had many stops along the way for months at a time.

No, she would be fine. There was nothing to worry about. For now, the only thing she had to worry about was telling Aragorn that she and the twins would need to go to the White Mountains first. She had neglected to reveal their plans for Maglor before the council. But as of now, the idea was to locate him first and try to find the Silmaril to stop the evil in the south. Perhaps a difficult task, but a necessary one.


	80. Explaining the Plan

Miril caught up with her king several hours later. She found him busy behind his desk, working hard with Prince Faramir to plan the best route for the three travelers. Miril knocked on the door and was told to come in.

"Ah, Miril." He nodded. "Glad you are here. Faramir and I have been going over the maps of Khand and Harad. I was adding what I remember from my campaigns as Thorongil down there."

"Aragorn, I need to speak with you." She hesitated. "Faramir, you are welcome to remain as it concerns the quest."

"Go on," Aragorn prompted with a nod of his head, his eyes concerned as they looked at her.

Miril took a deep breath. "The twins and I found something else during our stay in Dol Amroth."

Faramir and Aragorn stopped what they were doing and turned all attention on the half-elf.

"We found quite definite references to Maglor living in the White Mountains."

Aragorn closed his eyes and sat down. "So this is why you are so eager to set off. You wish to go to the White Mountains first and find him?"

"Who is Maglor?" Faramir asked. "Is he an ally?"

"Maglor is one of the seven sons of Feanor, and a relative of mine through his brother Caranthir, my forefather." Miril told him this, having forgotten that Faramir would have very little clue.

Aragorn continued instead, "Whether or not he is an ally is unknown to us. But the prophecy that Miril was given at the Mirror stresses the importance of finding him."

"When at once the servant of the Black Foe is gone, three must set forth. Find the Oathbreaker and retrieve the jewel at last. Face the darkness that will rise in the South and East with the light of Valinor." Miril recited the prophecy. "I remember it as if it happened yesterday."

"So Maglor is the Oathbreaker," Faramir nodded thoughtfully. "Then you must find him!"

Miril agreed wholeheartedly. "Indeed, we must! I do not believe that planning a route from here will be helpful. Plan it from Dol Amroth, for there is where we will make contact with traders and buy the proper attire and trade for Southron currency."

"I have been to Near Harad, this is true." Aragorn sighed. "But you will likely travel to Khand and maybe even Rhun. The stars are strange there. And Maglor will be of no help. I can provide you with some map more than maybe others, but not one detailed enough I fear."

Miril nodded. "I am sure all will be fine, Aragorn. Do what you can."

The king sighed and glanced down at the map in frustration and annoyance. "If only I had taken more detailed maps of Near Harad while I campaigned there. Things might be easier now."

"Do not blame yourself, Aragorn." Miril smiled kindly. "You did what was needed at the time. Few are gifted with foresight in this world."

"The few who are will soon pass over the sea," said a voice cryptically behind Miril.

Turning, she found Elladan standing in the doorway. He was leaning against the post and smiled as she turned and spotted him. Walking forward to join them, he looked at the map Aragorn had been working on.

"This is good little brother. You should be proud!" Elladan smiled at Aragorn playfully.

Aragorn snorted a humoring laugh, "Thank you, but I know it is less than what you were hoping for."

"Nevertheless," Elladan shrugged. "If that is what you can give, that is what we will take."

"Will they leave soon?" Miril frowned. "I do not wish to see them leave."

Elladan looked sad as well. "Much that was fair is already fading. I can feel it. A few more years of men and then they will be gone, this I am confident of."

There was melancholy silence as everyone in the room thought about this depressing fact. In the end it was Faramir who broke the solemn peace by bringing up a question he'd had.

"What will they do if they find the threat in the South, Aragorn?"

Miril immediately answer. "We will destroy it."

Aragorn nodded. "That is the hope, certainly. However if you feel you need reinforcements, do not hesitate to return for them."

Return for reinforcements? Never. Miril soon left the room and joined Elrohir in bed for it was late. She slept soundly for much of the night but eventually she was plagued with horrible nightmares. She sprung from bed and went out to the top of a stone tower still dressed in her nightgown. She needed fresh air.

Elladan found her first. They were both very surprised to see the other.

"What are you doing awake, Mir?" He asked her in surprise. "It is late. You should be in bed!"

"I could not sleep," she sighed. "I fear my mind is far astray these nights in anticipation for the coming journey."

Elladan nodded. "Nightmares, then?"

"Indeed." She closed her eyes. "Horrible ones full of darkness and death and blood."

He nodded and murmured that he understood. "I still have nightmares. Nightmares about when my mother was captured. Nightmares about how we found her."

"But she is safe, over the sea now," Miril reminded him.

Elladan agreed. "And yet I may never see her again. If I go, I will most likely never see my brother again. But if I stay, I shall not see my mother."

"For that, I am sorry," Miril downcast her eyes as the wind picked up and rustled her hair and clothes. "For I fear it is my fault."

"Elrohir made no mistake in choosing who he wished to marry. And neither of us regret that decision." Elladan smiled. "For I am privileged to call you sister, now. And no matter what happens, know that I will always care for you like I always have."

Miril felt a tear trying to escape her eye. "I myself am privileged to call you brother. For you have always cared for me like one. You made me remember what it was like to have a brother when I lost my own and for that, I cannot be grateful enough. I wish only that you someday may fully understand the gratitude I feel."

Elladan gave a small smile. "Go. Get to bed, little one."

With a smile and a yawn, Miril did just that.


	81. The Leaving

Within a few days, they were ready to set forth. Together, Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir stood in the throne room dressed in their traveling tunics, swords strapped to their belts, and packs prepared to put on their horses. They planned to stable their horses in Dol Amroth after finding Maglor in the White Mountains. Or at least that was the hope. From Dol Amroth, they would "flee" to Mordor and begin investigating.

Aragorn and Arwen, Faramir and Eowyn all stood opposite the three companions. Arwen looked solemnly and sadly at her brothers.

"Stay safe, brothers, Miril," Arwen said. "I hope you are capable of it."

Elrohir smiled roguishly. "Of course, sister. You know us!"

"That's what we're afraid of," Aragorn pointed out. "Stay out of trouble as long as you can."

Miril laughed and nodded. "Of course we will."

"Fare thee well then," Aragorn sighed with a frown. " _Na lû e-govaned vîn_ *"

They bowed low to their friend and king. They would miss Gondor, truly. Miril especially was thinking of this. Gondor was now her home, though she very much missed Rivendell and the North. She hoped she would be able to return there someday. In fact, she wished to show her child the North. She wished for him or her to know of the history that Miril had been a part of. She knew the unborn child in her womb would never seen Lothlorien in all its beauty, and that made her sad. She would make it back to Minas Tirith, if only for the good of the child.

They picked up their packs of provisions and clothing and left the large throne room. The two guards beside the doors swung them open ceremoniously. When the large doors shut behind them, it was symbolic. They were really leaving.

"Well. Let us get the horses and be off," Miril said too forcefully, betraying her sadness.

Elrohir kissed her on the head. "Do not fret. We will return before you know it."

Miril forced a smile and a nod. Together the three half-elves made their way down through the streets of Minas Tirith until half way they came to the stables for royalty and visitors.

"Are you ready, Bruidal?" Miril whispered to her mare. "We are going to avenge my father against the Haradrim filth."

Bruidal was rearing to go. As soon as Miril attached the saddlebags and mounted the horse, she began to trot out into the square where they waited for the twins. Once Elladan and Elrohir were ready, they made their way down the streets to the great gates. Trotting out the gates was like a final farewell. They would make for the mountains that spawned the River Gilrain, for that was where it was said Nimrodel was lost in the ancient lore.

"To the River we go," Miril said. "Come. Let us gallop for awhile!"

And gallop they did. Miril sped forward on Bruidal, leaving the twins to play catch up. They almost did catch her, but not until she began to slow to rest her mare did they truly catch up. The wind was swift when they rode quickly and blew the hair of both man and beast this way and that. Miril was glad hers was back in a fancy braid. It kept all but the loose strands out of her face. She enjoyed the bite of the wind on her cheek.

They rode hard off and on until sunset. The colors in the sky were a combination of beautiful oranges and pinks and purples. Miril wished she could capture this moment forever. Just her, the twins, the horses, and the sky. But alas, she could not and soon the sunset faded into dark night with stars and a half moon to light their way.

"We should halt for the day," Elrohir suggested. "It is late and the horses are tired."

Miril hesitated but eventually she agreed, pulling back the reins on Bruidal to bring her steed to a stand still. They were near a set of trees and a small pool of clear water fed by a spring at the base of the mountains.

"We will reach the source of the River Gilrain tomorrow, Mir. Fear not." Elladan patted her on the shoulder as they tied their horses to a couple trees and got out their blankets for sleeping.

"Sleep well," Miril told the twins as she lay down for sleep herself. With a mutter she added, "Don't let the neekerbreekers bite."

"What?" Elrohir asked in utter confusion.

She let out a chuckle. "It was something we used to tell each other as children in the Dunedain camps."

The twins laughed quietly before setting soundly into their waking dream-like state.

Miril looked up at the stars above her. She smiled. Lady Elbereth was looking out for them. Even if the stars in the South were "strange" as Aragorn was wont to say, they were created by the great patroness of the elves. Varda Elentari, Elbereth Gilthoniel, whatever name she was called, created the stars above them and she was always looking out for the elven kind.

She also began to listen to the gurgle of the small spring beside them that fed a tiny brook. It was like music being played by harpists and soft trumpeters. She smiled again, for again she heard on the edge of consciousness, a voice. She could not make it out, but she knew it was there. Someone was looking out for her.

Tomorrow they would find the River Gilrain and its source. From there, they hoped to travel deeper into the mountains to find the shack that Maglor lived in at one point and hoped to find him there still.

She fingered in her pocket the stone that Elrond had entrusted her with. "Give this to him," he had said. That was just what she was going to do. She didn't know what it was or why it was important. But evidently it was, so she treated it as such. Perhaps it would help convince Maglor of their trustworthiness and need of help. For that was going to be a challenge in and of itself.

***** **_Na lû e-govaned vîn_ ** **\- Until next we meet**


	82. Meetings by Moonlight

"It is time we ride." Miril finished cleaning their plates and forks from breakfast and stashed them away in a saddlebag. "The morning is already getting on."

Elrohir nodded to her. "Indeed. I guess a few more hours ride and we should reach the source of the River Gilrain. What do you think, brother?"

"Certainly we should reach it by midday," Elladan agreed. "Isn't far now."

They mounted their horses and took off. Miril pushed them at a fast pace, eager to reach their destination. She wished to reach the source of Gilrain as soon as may be. And indeed, within a few hours they had reached the stream and headed north to the source.

"It is beautiful here," Miril murmured in awe. "The grass is so green and the river is clear. It reminds me of the River Nimrodel in Lothlorien. It has the same feel."

"Perhaps that is why the Lady Nimrodel was lost here," Elladan proposed. "Perhaps she loved it as well."

They walked slowly upon their horses up the stream as it grew slower and smaller. It bubbled over stones and pebbles along its course like music. Miril loved it and decided this was some place she wouldn't mind living. Perhaps that is why Nimrodel was lost here, indeed. Or why Maglor set up his home there.

As it turned out, the source of the stream seemed to be in a cave. When they reached the dark mouth of the cavern, Miril recalled the tale Mithrellas had woven about the cave near Maglor's house.

"Perhaps this is the other end. Nimrodel must have explored the cave and found this river," Elrohir voiced her silent thoughts. "That would explain most things I had not understood!"

"That could be why Mithrellas never found her," Miril mused, nodding her head in affirmation. "Now the question is, do we head inside and hope to come out near Maglor, or do we look around on the outside?"

"It is dangerous to travel inside caves alone," Elladan warned her. "Besides, we lack many torches. We have only one for each of us."

Miril sighed. She knew it was true. Traveling inside caves was never a smart idea when the path was unknown. They were dangerously vast, often enough, and it was not worth the risk guessing the correct route inside those dark passageways.

"Very well," she relented. "Let us search around here."

Elrohir led the way forward, walking their horses behind them now as the terrain grew steeper and rockier. Trees all around them made the going tough, but it was doable. Left and right they looked, always with eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. But nothing stood out to them.

Miril was beginning to lose hope as the day went on and the shadows grew longer. No more was she sure they would find Maglor's shack at all. The entire time they searched, she fingered the smooth, carved stone that Elrond had entrusted her with.

It was very frustrating, being so close yet so far from answers. All she wanted was to see the roof of a house, or the beginnings of a path. But as the sun went down and another brilliant sunset appeared in the sky, none of that was made evident.

Not until the last ray of sunshine. As it turned out, the horses were the ones who found it first. Bruidal pulled Miril forward to a section of flat ground. Miril thought little of it until she realized it remained flat and relatively stone free.

"A path!" She grinned wildly. "Elladan, Elrohir! Come, it is a path."

A path indeed. It wound its way through the trees and was almost not visible. One had to feel it to realize it was a walking path carved out by feet passing many times. Miril was in front now, leading her brown mare behind her. Next went Elladan and his horse, followed by Elrohir and his own steed. They made their way as the sun completely dipped behind the horizon and soon the stars and moon lit their path.

It was not long after that they caught sight of it. A wooden house, if one could call a shack a house, stood in front of them at the end of the path. Miril pointed and smiled.

"Look! We found-"

A blade crossed her neck. She froze immediately and looked sidelong, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever belonged to the weapon.

"Don't move," said a calm, weary voice. "Just tell me who you are, and why you have come."

"That's complicated," Elrohir growled, drawing his sword as he saw what was going on. "I suggest you let our companion go so we can talk it out."

The man who belonged to the weapon was still not visible behind the trees. A laugh was let out, one without humor. The three half-elves froze, wondering what was about to happen.

The blade was removed from Miril's neck and the elf stepped into the light of the moon. He was tall, hair dark as the night sky above them. His eyes were grey and they betrayed an old sadness in their depths. His right hand was red and scarred, burned beyond help. But he wielded his blade in his left, seemingly with deadly skill. He seemed to shine, as if the light of the stars fell upon him in a particular way that reminded the half-elves of Galadriel.

"I ask again," the elf nodded. "Who are you, and who sent you?"

"I am Miril." She took a deep breath. "These are Elladan and Elrohir. We come alone by our own accord, except aided perhaps by one you might know."

"Oh?" the elf asked in surprise and suspicion. "Who is that?"

"Lady Galadriel," Elladan ventured.

The elf's eyes grew large and he took a step forward. "Galadriel? That is a name I have not heard in a long time."

"Then you are Maglor, son of Feanor?" Miril asked quickly.

His eyes grew dark and he recoiled. Before Miril could apologize however, he sighed and nodded. "Indeed."

Miril opened her mouth and closed it. She glanced back and decided to start with something maybe a little easier than her own lineage.

"My companions, they are sons of Lord Elrond." She reached out and handed Maglor the carven stone. "He seemed to think this would help you trust us."

Maglor's eyes grew huge as he looked from the stone to Elladan and Elrohir. He in turn opened and closed his mouth before quickly shoving the stone into his pocket and nodding.

"That is another name I hold dear that has not been spoken here," he murmured. "And who are you that you seek me out, Lady Miril? What do you wish with an old oathbreaker and kinslayer? For I see you are elven, though not fully. You surely know of my deeds."

"Yes well." Miril shuffled her feet. "I… I uh."

"Go on, peredhil." He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

Elladan and Elrohir watched carefully as Miril drew Galmegil. Maglor's eyes widened and he reached out with his good hand to touch the sword he recognized as the work of his father.

"How come you by this?" he asked quietly. "For that is the make of my father."

"It is mine by right of birth." Miril raised her eyes to look at Maglor's own. "For I am the descendant of your brother Caranthir by way of Lady Haleth of the Haladin. I am a child of Feanor, as you are."

Maglor stepped back. He looked at her and gaped in disbelief. He merely said one thing.

"What?"


	83. Oathbreaker

"I am your niece, several generations removed." Miril muttered, stepping back slightly from Maglor's intense gaze.

He looked at her in wonder and skepticism. "You? A Fëanorian?"

"Yeah," she shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

Elrohir leapt to her defense. "She speaks truly. She is known by the epessë Fëanoriel now. Her house, our house, is a house of Gondor now as well."

"'Our' house? You two are married then?" Maglor looked at them in surprise once more. "A son of Elrond is married to one of the House of Fëanor?"

"You believe us then?" Miril all but shouted in surprise. "You trust us?"

"I trust that what you have said about your lineage is true, for there is no other way you could've gotten this stone from Elrond save by killing him, nor could you have wrested this sword from the hands of Galadriel. Therefore I must conclude that you speak truly." He grimaced and turned away, beginning to walk from their presence. "However that does not mean that you are welcome here."

"Please," Miril pleaded. "Please listen to what we have to say!"

Maglor stopped his walking away and sighed, his head dipping low as he still faced away. "What could you possibly want or have that would make me listen to you?"

"You know that Galadriel is wise and powerful," Miril continued, sheathing Galmegil and walking forward.

The elf who was a foot taller than her nodded. Still he would not look at her. "Indeed she was- is."

"She had a mirror, a pool of water," Miril explained. "One could look in it and see things!"

"What did you see?" Maglor looked at her curiously, turning back to look at her at last.

Miril grimaced. "I saw many things. I saw two men in blue, bearded, cloaked, with large birchwood staves. I saw a ship shaped like a swan and a harbor with sand that sparkled and was warm to the touch. But most of all…"

She paused as she noticed the sadness in Maglor's eyes at the mention of the swan ships. He closed them and when they opened, a tear was in one. But it was never shed.

"Most of all there was a jewel. Large, the size of a palm of a hand. Bright, shining white with a light like I've never seen before except perhaps from Earendil's star."

Elladan and Elrohir very much hoped Miril knew what she was doing.

"Maglor," Miril began. "A silmaril is coming back."

Maglor's eyes grew harsh. The sadness she had seen in them was still there, filled with regret. But an anger was hot inside them now. A flame was kindled deep in the depths of his eyes.

He gripped his sword. "I will not touch one of those abominations again, ever!"

"But-"

Maglor held up his right hand. "You see what it did to me! I am unworthy of it. I will not touch it again, I swear it!"

"Maglor," Elladan stressed. "We are not asking you to touch it. We wish only for your help in making sure no one else does! There is more going on than a silmaril returning."

Miril looked at him forlornly. "Please, Maglor. As kin to kin. Let us speak to you about what is going on in the world. Let us stay here at least the night."

The fire in his eyes died down as he looked at her. He had many questions for them, this was true. And evidently they had much to tell. He looked at her. This was his blood. But that meant two things, especially if she was descended from his brother Caranthir. That meant she had passion, fire, and drive. But it also meant she was dangerous. Deadly, quick to anger, hot headed. Maglor knew this first-hand from his father and brothers. He knew he had it too, though to a lesser extent, perhaps, than his brothers Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin. And look where it had led them all.

"Very well," he relented wearily. "You will have to sleep outside, however. I lack room for you three in this place. We will speak once you set up your arrangements."

The three half elves nodded and began setting out their dinner and building a fire. Maglor, meanwhile, tied their horses to a tree and went to get his own dinner. He brought out a deer haunch and told them to go ahead and cook it over the fire as well.

"Just caught it a day ago," he informed them. "It's good meat."

"You hunt in these woods then?" Miril asked him.

"On occasion. Mostly I grow my own food." Maglor sat beside Miril on a log they had pulled over to use as seating across from the twins. He posed a question to them. "Tell me, how is your father?"

"Well," Elladan nodded. "He speaks of you fondly, you know. You alone."

"He and his brother never did quite like Nelyo," Maglor smiled, his humor tickled. "Elros moreso even than Elrond."

"So you did raise them, then?" Miril asked in awe. "You raised Lord Elrond!"

Maglor nodded. "Indeed. After the horrors we committed… I did not want to leave them to die alongside the others. It was a good decision, in the end."

The group sat in silence as the fire crackled and the meat cooked. Elrohir passed out the rolls they had brought to one another. They took bites and ate in silence until finally Maglor broke the deep peace with a question.

"How did you know where to find me?" Maglor asked. "How did you know I was even still alive?"

Miril nodded with a sigh. "The only way to answer your question is to explain the whole story."

And so she dove into an account of how she came to learn of her ancestry. She recalled her early life and how she was raised by Halbarad and Aragorn, how Sauron had hunted her down and killed her brother. She went in depth about her relationship to Galadriel and how the elven lady had trusted her to look in the mirror.

"I saw the Silmarils and their history," she recalled. "But the biggest revelation for me was a prophecy that I heard. 'When at once the servant of the Black Foe is gone, three must set forth. Find the Oathbreaker and retrieve the jewel at last. Face the darkness that will rise in the South and East with the light of Valinor'. And then I saw a cabin like this, and you. After much research and several moments of clarity, we decided to search here."

Maglor looked at the fire. _Oathbreaker_. That's what he was now to the Valar. He had little doubt that it was one of the great Powers who allowed Miril to hear the prophecy. Mandos or Ulmo, perhaps. They were not wrong. He _had_ broken an oath. An oath sworn to Eru, the One. A terrible oath he should never have sworn.


	84. Taking Responsibility

Maglor insisted that the three half-elves get some sleep after they ate. He had much to think about and had no desire to be bothered with questions by these young peredhil. He needed time to think things through and weigh the options as to what he could do about the information they had brought. He couldn't get past the horrible flashbacks that their arrival was bringing.

He knew the screams would never leave his mind. First the screams at the docks at Alqualonde, then the screams at Menegroth, and finally those horrible screams at the the Havens of Sirion. The blood that stained the white swan ships, the blood that stained the throne of Doriath, and the blood that poured into the sea at refugee holdings… they were a part of him forever.

The face of one young girl would never leave his mind. Her grey eyes pleaded with him as he plunged the sword his father had made him deep into the girl's mother, killing her. Her black hair stained red with blood that spewed from the corpse of her father. And finally her piercing shriek as he did the duty he was bound by oath to perform. He had slaughtered her in cold blood as she screamed at him to please stop.

Maglor paced forward and looked at the sleeping form of Miril. She had Caranthir's facial structure, and he wondered what else of his she inherited. His anger issues? His harshness? His pride and stubbornness? She had the potential to be very dangerous.

Walking away from her, he sighed. He looked up at the stars and narrowed his eyes. Where once they brought comfort to him, the light that Varda had given the world, they now reminded him only of what he'd lost. And he had lost a lot.

"It's my own fault," he reminded himself quietly.

He turned around when he heard rustling in the grass. He saw Miril tossing and turning, her eyes darting back and forth beneath her eyelids. She was moaning and breathing heavily. Maglor looked at her in concern and confusion, walking back over to her. He knelt beside her, unsure what to do. That's when Elrohir woke up, noticing what was going on. He smacked his twin awake as he crawled over to her. The fire had died low but it was still warm enough to heat the immediate area.

"Is she alright?" Maglor asked them in concern.

Elrohir sighed and tried to gently wake her. "She's been having what we presume are prophetic nightmares."

Miril still didn't wake. She tossed and turned, grabbing at the grass and driving the dirt deep beneath her fingernails. She was getting dangerously close to reaching the fire with her flailing hand.

"Mir, _melda_ , wake up," Elrohir pleaded.

With a scream, she sat up straight. She panted and her eyes darted around until they fell on the concerned faces of her companions. Miril looked at her filthy hands in confusion and then she laid back down in exhaustion.

"They're getting worse," she told them. "Every time they get worse."

"Have you deciphered them at all?" Elladan asked her.

She shook her head. "No. I have not. Always there are two men in blue, a giant spider, and a girl. Other than that, sometimes I see deserts, other times jungles. Sometimes there are orcs and other times evil men. Rarely are two dreams the same."

Maglor looked at her curiously. "A spider, you say? An enormous one, I presume?"

"Indeed," she agreed sadly. "Huge."

"Evil has often taken the shape of arachnids," Maglor reasoned. "After all, Ungoliant who destroyed Telperion and Laurelin was a spider. It could be your subconscious doing that inadvertently."

"Perhaps," nodded Miril. "Perhaps."

"Whatever the case may be, you need to rest." Elrohir ran his hand up and down her back to comfort her.

Miril nodded and sniffed back a tear. She lay back down and the other two brothers returned to their places. Maglor walked back into his shack and laid down. He needed to get some rest as well. The four slept for a few hours.

Miril awoke not long after the other finally fell back asleep. She was restless. As she stood up and tiptoed out of the camp area. She collected a few branches and stoked the fire before noticing the cave entrance for the first time. The sky was beginning to brighten and she saw the dark mouth not far away.

Grabbing a long, flaming branch, she moved toward it. Not far inside she could hear water. And something in the water sounded like it was speaking to her yet again, so she began making her way forward inside.

It was very dark inside the cave. Naturally, she supposed. As she made her way forward, she saw light ahead. A hole in the cave ceiling allowed a small bit of light to filter down and hit the water. It was mesmerizing.

She walked forward and dropped the fiery branch down where it quickly burned out. She knelt beside the small bubbling stream and dipped her hand in the water. When she did, she felt sleep overwhelm her to the point where she immediately lay down beside the stream, her hand still in the water.

She began to dream.


	85. The Lord of Waters

_Water was all around her, stretching endlessly in all directions. But where there should have been land or sky, there was only a vast white expanse. If it hadn't been for the water, she wouldn't not have known that it was a huge area. She stood, barefoot, in the clear, shallow water. It was neither particularly warm or cold to the touch, instead rather pleasant._

_Miril began to hear several voices around her._

" _She's a strange little thing. You sure it's her?"_

" _Namo was quite clear."_

" _Not someone… bigger?"_

_Miril spun around trying to locate the voices._

" _Be nice, Ossë," said the second of the two voices._

_The first replied. "I just think that someone stronger would be better, Uinen."_

" _She is who has been chosen," said a new voice, deep and endless like the sea._

_Miril cowered for a moment before speaking up. "Hello? Who's there?"_

" _I am."_

_A huge figure began to rise out of the vast water, taking the shape of a man clothed in greenish-blue scales and holding a trident. He was tall, at least eight feet high, with hair both silver and black. His eyes were a deep blue like the ocean._

_Miril gaped at him in wonder. As she looked at this… person… two others, smaller, rose from the water beside him. One was male, silver haired and clothed in deep blues. The other was female, golden haired and dressed in light turquoise and white._

" _Who are you?" Miril finally managed to ask._

" _I am known as Ulmo to you," said the tallest, obviously the leader. "These are Ossë and Uinen, two of my Maiar."_

 _Miril nearly fell to her knees._ Ulmo! _The Lord of Waters was here, talking to her!_

_She stammered. "How? Why?"_

" _How is actually more complicated than I would like. Irmo is allowing me to communicate through your dream. Unfortunately my power has waned in Middle Earth with the sundering of your land from ours. Combined with my power, Irmo's power of dreams can let us communicate near water." Ulmo paused. "As for why, I wished to aid you as much as I can on your quest. And to deliver one of Namo's dooms."_

" _Thank you, lord!" she was still stunned over the revelation that she was standing in the presence of a Vala and two Maiar._

" _First, the doom that Mandos has declared I pronounce." Ulmo paused for emphasis. "The Valar have decreed that if you find the Silmaril, and_ _ **if**_ _you are found worthy by it, you will be permitted to cross over the sea and come to Valinor."_

_Miril gasped. "They would lift the ban?"_

" _Indeed. For only the good may possess a Silmaril without being burned." Ulmo continued after a moment. "Remember this as you continue on your way, young Peredhel. Do not make the mistakes of your forefathers and allow vengeance to consume you. You have the chance to obtain what they could not- the Blessed Realm. Do not throw that away. To help you, I will do my best to guide you. My two companions here, Ossë and Uinen, will also help you. Wherever this is water, my spirit goes with you. Never forget that."_

" _Thank you, my lord. Thanks to all of you," Miril bowed low, going on one knee before them. "I shall do my best."_

" _Keep your eyes on the Valar, Miril Fёanoriel, and you shall complete this task. But stray even a little from the path destined for you and all will crumble," Ulmo cryptically told her._

_The dream began to fade as the water disappeared and all went black._

* * *

"Miril!"

She yawned and sat up in the dark. Her branch had long gone out but she saw a light coming near her. "Elrohir?"

"Where in the name of the Valar have you been?" the half-elf all but shouted, running towards her and helping her up. "Why did you come in here?!"

"That's a long story, I'm afraid," she murmured, mulling over the dream in her head. "Let us get back to the others first."

And so they left the cavern, Elrohir leading the way with the torch. Once outside they found Maglor and Elladan looking in various places nearby. Both looked at her in irritation.

"You cannot just wander off, Mir!" Elladan insisted. "You scared us all to death when we woke to find you gone!"

"It can't have been long," Miril protested.

"We woke up three hours ago." Maglor told her. "What were you doing in that cave?"

"I had a dream," Miril admitted, sitting down on the large log she'd used the night before. "In it, you won't believe this. In it, Lord Ulmo spoke to me. He told me that if we complete our task and the Silmaril finds me worthy, the Valar will permit me to cross over the sea!"

The twins looked at her in amazement but Maglor was nodding.

"I have known this spot was something special since I stumbled upon it. Important, somehow. That is why I have remained here." Maglor sighed. "So this is it then. The possibility of redemption for the line of Fёanor."

"Please help us, Maglor," Miril pleaded, standing up and taking his good hand. "Together the four of us, we can defeat the evil in the South. We can save Middle Earth and bring honor to the name of Fёanor!"

With a sigh, Maglor nodded. "I can see that this is what has been ordained for me to do. Perhaps I can help bring something good to my father's legacy. You will be that legacy, Miril."

"I will gladly restore the name of Fёanor to something good." Miril nodded with a smile. "Just say yes."

Maglor sighed again. "Very well. We eat and then pack. Let us leave before the afternoon is over."

Miril smiled and turned to the twins. They too were smiling and together the four companions began to eat a late breakfast of bread and cheese and leftover meat. Once that was done, they packed up the horses and Miril told Maglor to mount Bruidal. She would ride with Elrohir. They were going to ditch the horses in Ithilien anyways, after Dol Amroth and on the way to Mordor. Within a few hours, they were riding South to the havens.


	86. The White Swan on a Field of Blue

They traveled for hours. Fortunately, Dol Amroth was almost directly south of them across green grassy lands and homesteads. They rode through the afternoon and into the dark night. Miril laid herself back into Elrohir's body as he guided the horse they shared. She watched as the stars above remained in place despite their quick speed. Far ahead of them, torchlight indicated they were drawing close to the havens at Dol Amroth.

It was just past midnight when they rode into the town. The gatekeeper let them pass without much hassle and they went immediately to the local tavern so as not to disturb the Prince or his family at such a late hour. But when they walked inside, they were surprised to find a familiar face by the large fire, sitting by herself.

"Lothiriel?" Miril looked at her in confusion. "Why aren't you in the Royal Houses?"

Lothiriel looked equally as surprised to see them. "Lords, Lady Miril! What are you doing here?"

"We are here to trade at the docks, but we didn't want to bother your family for accommodations." Miril smiled, sitting across from Lothiriel while the three others stood behind her.

"I come here sometimes to listen to the people," Lothiriel explained. "But I was about to head home. Do you wish to come? I will set you four up with lodging."

They all agreed and soon the four companions were following the Lady Lothiriel out of the tavern inn and up the many steps and paths to the Royal Houses. She led them into the guest house, instructing the guard to allow them to stay on her authority.

"Sleep well," Lothiriel smiled after she told a servant to be sure the fireplace had plenty of wood. "I will let my father know that you are here tomorrow morning."

She closed the door of the house on her way out. They found that each room in the house had one bed, so Miril and Elrohir took the first room on the left while the other two took the two rooms on the first floor at the right.

"Maglor, we will introduce you to Prince Imrahil tomorrow," Miril told the elf before they broke for the night. "He will want to meet you, I'm sure."

"Very well," Maglor nodded.

For the first time in a long time, Miril slept soundly. No nightmares afflicted her, in fact she didn't wake up even once until sunlight began to stream through the window the next morning. She snuggled closer to her husband and he smiled as he too embraced her.

"We have to get up," she mumbled into his chest. "We have work to do."

Elrohir sighed. "I know."

Miril sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes.

"How did you sleep," Elrohir asked her as he sat up as well.

She smiled. "Very well!"

She stood up and got changed into her black tunic and pants, strapping a small dagger onto her belt instead of Galmegil. She decided to leave the sword in her room while she treated with the traders and in the market and at the docks. Elrohir changed into his own dark blue outfit and he too left his sword behind.

"Shall we go get the others?" Elrohir nodded as they both were ready to go, carrying satchels of money across their bodies.

Miril nodded. "Let's."

They went out into the main hallway and turned to find Maglor and Elladan both sitting in the common area by the fireplace, eating cakes and fruit brought by servants. The elf and half-elf turned to see them walk in and gestured to the food and drink before them.

"It seems the Prince heard of our arrival already," Elladan grinned. "It's good food,"

"I'm glad you like it," said the Prince as he had just walked inside the house. "Only the best for my guests."

"Thank you again, Prince Imrahil," Miril replied. "We are in your debt."

"Nonsense. I am privileged to help the ward and brothers of my king." Imrahil nodded and then looked at Maglor. "I have not made the honor of your acquaintance. I am Imrahil."

"Maglor," nodded the elf. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"It is nothing, truly. Please excuse my people if they stare at you once you go out, though. There has not been an elf in this city since the days of our founder." Prince Imrahil smiled. "Well. I must get going. Good luck to you on your journey, and keep safe. Be sure to see me before you leave."

"Thank you, sir," Elladan nodded. "We shall."

Imrahil left the House leaving the three half-elves and one elf to discuss their plans for the day. In the end it was decided that Maglor and Miril would go to the docks while Elladan and Elrohir would explore the marketplace. They planned to meet back for lunch in the Guest House.

"Come, let's go," Miril and Maglor left the house and made their way down to the seaside through many winding paths and steps. "Maglor, for all intents and purposes, I'm your daughter. We're looking for information about Harad because we are fleeing there from a country in the far West."

"Makes sense," he agreed.

She nodded and they walked through the bottom gate out onto the stone docks. She gasped at the sea. She'd been to the sea by the Grey Havens. But that water was often dark and cold to the touch because it was much more north than these warm, clear waters of the south. The water here was very blue and the sand looked white and warm. The stones she stood on were above the sand so that the ships could dock.

Miril noted that Maglor looked uncomfortable. He was gazing at the standard of Dol Amroth, a white swan on a blue field. She wondered why that was. He of course was thinking of the other haven he'd been to: Alqualondё in the Undying Lands. The location of the very first Kinslaying.

"Come. Let's start talking to the ship crews." He finally said and together they walked towards the first boat.


	87. Of Harad and Revenge

"Excuse me," Miril waved down a dock worker. "Is there anyone currently docked who's had dealings with Harad?"

The man looked at the two in wonder. "Yes, two boats. Both at the far end of the docks."

They looked where he pointed and Maglor thanked him with a bow of his head. The pretend father-daughter pair walked down the stone docks to the far end where two large boats were moored.

"Excuse me, sirs," Miril said again, this time to the crew of the first ship. "Have you been to Harad of late?"

"Why do you want to know, lass?" one asked with his eyes narrowed. "We do as we please."

"We are looking for any information on Harad that we can find for we are fleeing out homes in the West and need a place to settle," Maglor lied to them. "We are unfamiliar with mannish cultures and want to know about Harad."

A younger crew member nodded and came over. He was scrawny and small, but looked kind enough. "We go to Harad regularly ma'am, sir. They don't much like elves or western men, but the villages each have their own laws regarding foreigners."

"What of the land?" Miril asked. "Is it fertile?"

The first man shook his head. "Not all of it. Much of it be covered in desert wasteland, and the parts that aren't tend to be dense jungles where oliphants and all manners of large cats live! Scary place Harad is, indeed."

"But Umbar pays a good price for goods from Gondor," said a new man, obviously the ship's captain. "And Haradrim wares are highly profitable among the men here. Especially the spices and cloth."

"Cap'n on deck," announced the first man.

"Who might you be, lass, sir?" the Captain asked Maglor and Miril.

Miril hesitated. Her name was quite well known since the war. She would have to be careful.

"Lominzil," Miril told him. "This is my father, Maglor."

Maglor didn't even flinch at her lie, which somewhat frightened Miril. How was he so good at lying, at rolling with whatever happened? What had made him like this?

"So you want information on Harad, eh?" The Captain ran his hand over his short, scruffy beard. "Let me tell you this. It took a long time to get the Haradrim used to me and my men. Perhaps it will take less time for you elves since there are said to be some elves far to the East. I've never seen 'em though."

"Will they kill us on sight?" Maglor asked in somewhat genuine concern.

The Captain shook his head. "Not unless you come in brandishing weapons! They might attack a Gondorian on sight, but I bet they'll be too confused as to why two elves are heading into their land to attack you straight-way."

"You said there are elves far to the east?" Miril asked him in amazement.

He shrugged. "So the legends say. Apparently they call themselves the Kinn-lai. But like I also said, I've never laid eyes on 'em."

"Thank you, sir, for your assistance. We have other errands to run for now," Miril said.

"Are you gonna be wantin' passage to Harad?" he asked. "I'm Captain Durion of the Scorpion. Let me know if you do."

"Thank you, we might." Maglor nodded, forcing a smile.

The two of them turned and made their way back into the main section of the city, up the winding steps and paths. Ivy climbed the walls and hung over the arches while purple blooms added color to the grey and white of the stonework.

"Elves in the East?" Miril asked Maglor quietly while they walked.

Maglor shrugged. "It is entirely possible, quite likely in fact. Some elves refused the summons of the Valar in the first place, never leaving Middle Earth to begin with. It is likely some stayed in the East after the sundering and developed there. We called these "refusers" Avari while we are the Eldar."

"Fascinating," Miril nodded.

It was almost lunch time when they reached the Guest House. They had spent some time wandering Dol Amroth and in the tavern. Maglor insisted he hadn't had good wine in thousands of years. She believed him.

They sat down in the central sitting room of the Guest House and waited for the twins. Elladan and Elrohir weren't long. They came inside soon enough carrying bags stuffed with food, clothes, and money to use in Harad.

"How was your dock visit?" Elladan asked as he closed the door behind his brother and plopped the bags he had been carrying down on the floor. "We were quite successful!"

"As were we," Miril smiled. "It seems that Harad is separated into clan villages, each run by their own leader. There are jungles and deserts in the land. I have never seen either!"

"Neither have I," Elrohir said as both he and his brother agreed.

"Neither are fun." Maglor grimaced. "Though I suppose this isn't meant to be fun or easy. If it was, the Valar wouldn't contact you."

They all supposed he was right.

Miril turned to the twins. "What did you manage to find?"

"Plenty of food. At least enough to last until we reach the mannish settlements in Nurn." Elladan looked through his bag. "Elrohir, you were in charge of clothes."

"Yes," he said with a nod. "Miril I got a basic, worn black cloak for you. Maglor, I got you a blue one. We got grey. I also bought tunics for each of us to use as a spare."

"We managed to trade for some Haradrim coin, too." Elladan pulled out a bag of golden coins with the symbol of a winding serpent on it.

Miril took one of the coins in her hand and felt her throat clench up. She stood and walked away from the group, staring at the serpent icon on the coin she held. Slamming the door to her room and locking it, she slid down into a sitting position, back against the door.

That was the symbol of death for her. The symbol of everything she hated. These men had killed her father. Miril wanted more than anything to see them fall. And yet here she was, going into their land under the guise of a peaceful refugee. It made her sick the more she thought about it. But perhaps this was what she needed to get close enough in to strike a damaging blow to the people who murdered her father. Perhaps this was what she needed after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinn-lai is from The History of Middle Earth: War of the Jewels: Quendi and Eldar. It is a derivative of Quendi used by one of six clans of Avari as a word for who they are.


	88. Shadow of Caranthir

"Mír?" She heard Elrohir's quiet voice behind the door. "Open up please, _melda_."

She wiped the tears from her face but didn't respond or move.

"Míril, let me in." He sighed and pleaded with her. "Let me help you. Please!"

With a sigh and as she began to cry again, she stood and slowly unlocked the door. She opened it a crack and looked at Elrohir's face through the slit. He looked at her like no one else in the world ever did and she broke, letting him inside.

"They don't deserve us coming in peacefully," Míril choked through her tears as Elrohir closed the door behind him. "We should march in with an army."

Elrohir shook his head and pulled her into a tight hug. "Fighting won't bring your farther back, Mír. Fighting only brings more death."

"Death for the Haradrim, maybe. But they deserve it." Míril was growing angry. "They all deserve death! Let us give it to them!"

Elrohir sighed. "Nay. They are men, people like Gondorians. They were corrupted by evil, they are not evil themselves. Perhaps they can be helped."

"Helped?!" Míril was growing fell and fey in her fierce anger. " _Helped_?! No, my love. They should be cut down as they did my father."

Elrohir looked at her with pity and love. This was not Míril. This was her anger and hatred.

"As they did my father…" she trailed off in choking tears and sunk to the ground. "They murdered him. They murdered him, Elrohir! He shouldn't have died then!"

Elrohir grabbed her in his arms and held her, allowing her to cry as long as she needed. Eventually she fell asleep in his arms and he lifted her up, placing her on the bed. From there he left the room quietly and returned to the sitting area where he found Maglor looking long and hard into the fire and Elladan inventoring their supplies.

"That was not like Míril," Elrohir sighed. "I have never seen her quite that rageful. She has always been one to seek vengeance and justice, but that was extreme."

"That," Maglor sighed, not moving his eyes from the fire. "That was the blood of Fëanor. As I feared, it appears she has inherited my brother's rage and my father's thirst for revenge. That is a dangerous combination, Elrohir."

"She will choose the right path, I know it," Elrohir assured him. "She is good."

"So was I, once," Maglor reminded him. "Then I swore an oath in my anger and my rage, and everything I did brought ruin and death."

Both twins stopped what they were doing and looked at each other.

"We will not let that happen," Elrohir growled. "I will die before I let Míril do something so rash and deadly."

Maglor got up and walked past him. "Be careful, or that might just come true. Kinslaying runs in the family."

Maglor went to his room and closed the door behind him. He had heard the conversation between the two married half-elves. Míril had sounded far too like his brother Caranthir for his liking. And her thirst for revenge had been exactly what had driven his father to madness and death. In fact it had been over the loss of Fëanor's own father, Finwë, that caused the entire incident. That and the theft of the Silmarils were the reason for so much pain in the world.

In the common room, Elladan sighed and began repacking the supplies into the travelers' bags. He looked at Elrohir as he stood and gave a curt smile and nod.

"She will be fine, brother. Trust me. We know Míril better than Maglor. She is _not_ Caranthir and she is _not_ Fëanor. She is Míril, trusted by Lady Galadriel and our father Elrond!" Elladan placed and arm on his twin's shoulder. "And she is your bride. She would never harm you."

Elrohir nodded. "I know. It just saddens me to see her like that. So filled with anger. When that happens, she is rash and gets herself into danger and trouble."

"Dinner is not in too long," Elladan commented, picking up his own bags to put them in his room. "And then after that, I thought perhaps we could all go down to the beach for sunset. It might make Míril feel better."

And that is what they did. Right before dinner, Míril finally woke and came out to join the others. Her eyes were still slightly red and puffy from her rage-filled crying but she had control of herself now.

After dinner, the three half-elves decided to go down to the beach, leaving Maglor behind at the Guest House. They made the walk through the wonderfully warm June air down the stone paths and steps until they finally reached the docks. From there they walked down a few more steps to the beach.

The sand was still somewhat warm to the touch despite the setting sun. They looked West as the sun began to sink below the horizon. Behind the mountains it sunk, twilight casting it's half light, half darkness across the land.

Míril sat in the sand, taking her shoes off and letting her feet sink into the white grains. Elladan and Elrohir sat beside her.

"Look at the moon," Elrohir pointed. "And the stars are particularly bright tonight, I believe."

" _Ele_ ," Elladan nodded. "Star. The first word ever spoken by elves, it's said."

"Lady Elbereth's crowning jewels," Elrohir agreed.

Míril nodded, closed her eyes with a soft smile, and listened to the sea. She felt at peace here. She could almost hear the voices of Ossë and Ulmo in the crashing of the waves.

"How rare and beautiful is the sea, too," Míril murmured, standing up and walking forward so that the waves danced about her feet. "So powerful and yet teeming with life. Strange."

"The ocean is wonderful, indeed." Elladan nodded. "And it calls all of us home, even us _peredhil_."

"Perhaps someday I will go over the sea," she murmured quietly.

" _Perhaps. Remain calm and do the will of the Valar and of Illuvatar, and one day you might_." She heard a voice speak to her. _Ulmo._

She knew what she had said earlier was wrong. But she wished she could say she hadn't meant any of it. Míril couldn't say that, though. She _had_ meant it. And it was going to take everything she had, all of her willpower, to resist acting on her rage.


	89. Cannot or Will Not

The twins and Míril went back to the House after midnight. The twins immediately went to bed but Míril told them she wanted to stay up a bit longer.

"I won't do anything foolish, I promise you," she insisted to them. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Elrohir sighed and relented. "Just be careful."

She smiled and nodded. Of course she would. The twins left to go to their rooms, leaving her alone in the common room. For a while she was content to sit and watched the glowing fire as the flames danced around in mesmerizing patterns. She didn't even notice when Maglor came in and watched her from the door frame.

"Flames are fascinating, aren't they," he mentioned cautiously after a few minutes, noting that she held in her hand one of the golden coins of Harad. Who knew what mood she was in?

"I did not see you come in, Maglor," she answered sharply. "What do you need?"

"I need to take a walk." He grimaced. "Join me?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Alright. Where are you going?"

The fact that she slipped the coin into her pocket did not evade Maglor's notice but he said nothing and made no motion to stop her. He merely opened the door and she walked through it. He closed the door behind them.

"The havens again," he told her with a small sigh. "Just follow me."

They made their way quietly down the paths and stairs to the harbor where fishing boats and large vessels alike were moored. The sea and sky were both dark as it was several hours past midnight. The few torches that lined the docks still shined brightly, though, making visibility well enough.

Maglor stopped again at the large banner of a swan on a field of blue. He frowned, memories plaguing him of an all too similar place in Valinor.

"Why did you come here, Maglor?" Míril asked.

"Look here, Míril." He pointed to the banner. "Do you see this? A white swan with a blue background?"

"Of course." She looked at him in confusion. "It is the emblem of Dol Amroth. I am quite familiar with it. Why?"

He avoided the question, instead facing away from her out to sea. "Do you know what I hear when I listen to these crashing waves?"

Míril shrugged. "Music? Voices? That is what comes to _my_ mind."

He gave a bitterly rueful half smile. "That is because you are pure- for now."

He turned to her swiftly, a fierce expression on his face. "No, Míril Fëanoriel! When I hear the waves, I hear the screams of dying children, the cries of wounded mothers. I see in my mind the blood that I spilled because of my vengeance. I blocked it out at the time, made myself strong with my anger. But afterwards, it rushes in just like these waves. It consumes you!"

Míril took a step back from him. She saw in his eyes a pain that she hoped to never see again. It frightened her.

"Do not make the same mistake I and my brothers made!" He looked at her intently in the eyes before turning back to the sea once more. "There is no salvation for me, Míril. But you have a chance. Don't you _dare_ throw that away."

She frowned and narrowed her eyes, looking away. She knew he was right. He certainly knew what he was talking about. But it was much easier said than done. In her pocket she fingered the coin of the Haradrim, outlining the snake with her thumb. She knew he knew about it. He probably wanted her to throw it away, to cast it into the sea. But she would not. She _could_ not. Not yet at least.

She turned and began the walk back up the path away from the water, leaving Maglor to stare out to sea and contemplate for the umpteenth time his actions. She placed her hand over her uterus and made a promise.

" _You will go over the sea, little one. Someday."_

Míril did not know how she was going to keep that promise. But she would. She knew it. She _knew_ it.

Finally she reached the House and changed before climbing into bed with Elrohir. He woke up when she lay down and he smiled at her.

"Didn't do anything stupid, I trust?"

She chuckled a little bit. "Nay. I did not. I was very responsible."

Together they fell asleep, she in his arms, finally feeling some peace after that day's events.

And so it was when they woke bright and early the next morning. Peace.

"We must speak to Prince Imrahil before we leave," Míril reminded her husband when she sat up in bed with a stretch. "We cannot forget!"

"We will not," he assured her. He smiled as she got changed into her tunic and new...old… riding cloak. Her all black outfit was sure to turn some heads, hopefully away.

"Quit staring at me and get dressed yourself," she laughed, brushing her hair.

He grinned and got up, changing into his own tunic. Once both were dressed, they grabbed their saddle bags and left the room. Míril made sure the golden coin was in her pocket. She didn't want to lose it.

They met up with Maglor and Elladan in the main room, both ready to go. Míril made brief eye contact with Maglor before she looked away.

"We ready then?" she asked them.

With a nod in agreement, they left the Guest House and thanked the servants and guard. Míril led the way to the stables were they left the bags and then went to find Prince Imrahil.

They found him walking down the stairs of the Royal House to the throne room. Behind him came his four children, three men and one woman. Lothiriel they knew, as well as Elphir and Amrothos. But the third man was unknown to them.

"My lady, Lords," Imrahil smiled. "May I introduce Erchirion, my middle son."

"An honor, Lords and lady," he said with a bow.

"I trust you are ready to leave, then?" Imrahil nodded with a small sigh.

"Indeed," Maglor told him. "It is high time we departed."

"Agreed," Imrahil replied.

Míril locked eyes with Lothiriel who looked at her with a mix of awe and envy.

"We bid you and your house farewell, until we meet again," Míril said with a bow. "We have much to repay, and we will meet again."

"Best of luck to you all." Imrahil nodded solemnly. "You will need it, I fear."

They all bid their goodbyes and soon the four were leaving for real. They tracked down their now saddled horses and mounted up. Riding down the white and grey cobble road, they left Dol Amroth. Their next stop was Ithilien where they would leave their horses with Faramir and Eowyn and pick up last minute food supplies. This trip was finally happening.

The quest had begun.


	90. Conversation at Emyn Arnen

The ride to Emyn Arnen, the location that Faramir had taken up residence in, took three days. They didn't speak much as each was busy with his or her own thoughts. Miril especially was concerned with her own ruminations.

When they finally saw the hills in the distance, they pushed their horses all the harder. They wanted to reach Emyn Arnen by nightfall and the sun was already setting on the third day. Bruidal was panting hard as Maglor drove him forward by the time they slowed down and saw the small city that had been rebuilt. Dismounting alongside her husband, Miril walked up to the great wall and knocked on the gate. A guard opened a small window and looked at them.

"Who seeks entry at such a late hour?"

"Lady Miril, Lords Elladan and Elrohir, and our companion," answered Miril for the group. "We are here to see Prince Faramir."

"Of course, my lords, my lady!" The man quickly undid the latches and let them inside. "Straight on, the fifth house on the left. The largest one. Stables are just to the right here"

"Thank you, good sir," Elladan smiled as they led their horses onward behind them and took a right to the stables.

There they left their horses with instructions that they be stabled and taken care of while they went to see Faramir and Eowyn. They picked up their saddle bags and walked through the streets to the main house.

"Beregond," Miril smiled as she saw the guard standing before the house. "We are here to see Faramir. Is he awake?"

"Lady Miril," Beregond nodded. "Yes he's inside. Follow me."

He turned and knocked on the door before opening it. It was laid out much like the Royal House of Dol Amroth; the first floor was a throne room and the upper rooms were bedrooms.

"Prince Faramir, sir," Beregond called in. "Guests are here to see you."

Several moments passed before the Prince came in from a side room. He looked confused until he caught sight of the newcomers.

"You've got here at last," he smiled. "Come in!"

They all smiled except a somewhat grumpy Maglor as Beregond left and closed the door behind him, leaving the group to speak together. Eowyn appeared from the top of the throne room stairs and she smiled, coming down one step at a time.

"Miril, Elladan, Elrohir," she nodded. "It is good to see you. And you are?"

All eyes turned to Maglor.

"Maglor, my lady." he bowed to her.

"A pleasure, Maglor," Faramir nodded. "Come, you must be tired. Let me take you to where you will be staying. We have guest houses across the way."

They all agreed it would be best to get sleep. Faramir led the twins and Maglor while Miril hung back and walked with Eowyn.

"How is Ithilien treating you, Eowyn?" Miril asked the woman.

Eowyn smiled. "Quite well. I'm pregnant with our first child!"

Miril laughed. "I thought I noticed a baby bump. Congratulations!"

"I miss fighting, it is true." Eowyn sighed. "But my child is more important than my comfort."

Miril smiled. "You will be able to get back to fighting some day. After all, you can help teach this little child how to wield a sword! He or she will be proud to have you as a mother!"

"Yes," Eowyn blushed a little. "I will teach the child."

They reached the guest house not long after. Miril and Eowyn walked inside. There were four rooms on the bottom floor, four on the top as with the house in Dol Amroth. Elladan and Maglor took two on the left while Miril and Elrohir took one on the right. The main room had a large fireplace and a small fountain on opposite walls.

"This looks remarkably like Dol Amroth," Miril finally commented.

"As well it should," Faramir chuckled. "It was designed by the same architects long ago and was recently rebuilt in the same style."

"Ah," she smiled. "That makes sense."

"Get some rest. I will have servants bring you breakfast in the morning. Once you have eaten, come see me in the Main House." Faramir instructed them sternly. "We have much to discuss about your trip, for new information has reached me.

"Thank you. We shall." Miril nodded but frowned.

Faramir instantly caught her expression and, as he was good at reading people, decided to investigate. "Eowyn go ahead back without me. I do have one thing to speak to Miril about that cannot wait."

Everyone looked at him in surprise, including Miril, but they all thought little of it. Eowyn left the House and the other three went to put their bags down and get ready for bed. Miril, utterly confused, left her bags with Elrohir and followed Faramir out into the night.

"What is this about, Faramir?" Miril asked him quickly. "What is the matter?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he turned the question on her as they walked. "You look utterly defeated. Why is that?"

"That's what you want to know?" She looked at him like he had two heads. "I thought there was something important to tell me."

"This is important," Faramir insisted.

They continued to walk, Faramir with his hands behind his back and Miril trailing her feet. They climbed up at a large hill to a watch tower. He told her to climb it and he followed. The top was a beautiful view of all sides of Emyn Arnen. She could even see Minas Tirith from her spot atop the tower.

"Miril do you remember that night in the House of Healing? The night we both lost our fathers?"

Pain overtook her. She felt a chill climb up into her throat, a reminder of what she'd suffered that day on the Pelennor fields. And she thought of the blood on her hands, the blood of her father.

"Of course." She nodded. "I do, yes."

"That day we both lost much, but you came out strong," he recalled. "So what has got you, as strong as you are, so sad and forlorn?"

Thoughts raced through her head. What had her upset? Two things she could think of right off the bat: the death of her father and her unborn child.

"That day, actually," she sighed at last. "My father's death haunts me, Faramir. Does your own father's death not haunt you?"

"Nay," he shook his head and looked out at Minas Tirith far away. "I have moved on. Just as I moved on after the death of my brother."

She clenched her fists. "I have yet to get past the death of my own."

"Well therein lies your problem, Miril." Faramir laid a hand on her shoulder. "We cannot change the past, and we cannot bring back those who are dead."

"I know." She sighed and looked away from him. "I know. But I still hold a hatred in my heart for the servants of Sauron, especially the Haradrim."

"Let go of it," Faramir pleaded. "It will only harm _you_ in the long run."

"I'll do my best," she promised him. "And thank you, Faramir. Thank you."

He smiled softly and dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Not get to bed."

She left with a smile and went back down the tower and back to the Guest House. There she changed and climbed into bed with her husband. Tomorrow would likely be their last night in the West for along time.


	91. Choosing paths

The next morning, Miril woke early before her husband. She quickly changed into a tunic and pants, strapping on her leather boots and combing her hair to try to get the dirt that had accumulated out of it. She wished she could bathe before leaving but she wasn't sure there would be time today.

She walked out of her bedroom and into the common room. Because it was still early and the sun had only just risen above the hills, breakfast was not there yet. No matter, she desired to take a walk first anyways.

It was warm outside but she still put on her weathered cloak for good measure in case it get windy or the weather changed some other way. Besides, she liked having a cloak on. She had always worn them during her days in the North.

Oh the North! How she missed those rolling hills and even the bite of the bitterness at Bree. What wouldn't she give to have a simple ale at the Prancing Pony, or go warg hunting up near Lake Evendim? She loved Gondor now too, but the North would always be her home.

She missed the faces of her hobbit friends, too. She missed Pippin's happy little smile and curly sandy hair. She missed Merry and his affinity for maps and books. Though she had never grown close to them, she also missed Frodo and Sam. She wondered how they were doing. News of the Scouring of the Shire had reached Gondor before she left, but as it was sovereign territory and the hobbits seemed to have everything under control, no citizen of Gondor was dispatched to help.

And what of Lothlorien? Surely by now, with the departure of the Lady Galadriel, the Mellyrn trees were starting to wilt and die. The majority of the folk of those lands moved to Mirkwood after the destruction of Dol Guldor by the Galadhrim. Oh how sad was the fading of what was once beautiful.

Most of all Miril missed Rivendell and the lands north of the Shire. Rivendell had been her home for so long and she wondered if Lindir and Oreleth had left to go over the sea. She wondered if they'd left without saying goodbye?

"Quit thinking like that, MIril," she told herself outloud as she walked the stoney streets of Emyn Arnen.

"Thinking like what?"

Miril turned around sharply to find Maglor looking at her.

"Were you following me?" Miril asked incredulously.

Maglor laughed. "Calm down, your highness. Nay. I was out for a stroll myself and saw you wandering forlornly across the path."

She huffed and turned away, only somewhat believing his answer.

"So tell me, what is troubling you?" Maglor walked closer to her.

"I am merely lamenting the loss of so much that was once fair," Miril sighed. "Does that answer your question?"

"Indeed." He nodded. "I understand completely, you know. More than most I should say. For I have seen ultimate beauty and lost it forever."

Miril looked at him. She supposed he was right. He had lost everything. He had lost his family, his riches, his friends, his home. All he had was his life, and that was a hollow one, knowing the only way he could die would be in battle or to fade away entirely.

"Come on," Maglor gestured for her to follow him. "It should be time for breakfast by now."

She looked at the sky and supposed he was right. The sun was high enough that the others should have been awake as well. Together, she and Maglor made their way to the house they were staying in and went inside. As suspected, the twins were both awake and the food had just arrived.

"Where did you two run of to?" Elladan asked curiously as he stuffed his face with berries.

Maglor spoke as he sat down in a chair. "I ran into her as I was taking a walk and reminded her it was high time for breakfast."

"Good thing you got here when you did," Elrohir laughed. "Elladan is likely to eat all the berries if you don't stop him!"

Elladan smiled at them, his face red with berry juice. Miril snorted with laughter as she put a few of the ripe red berries on her plate as well as a few slices of bread and some butter. She ate her meal in relative silence, realizing that for everything she had lost by helping with the Ring quest, she had gained much as well.

For she had managed to wed the greatest man, elf, or half-elf alive in Elrohir, and was now carrying their child. She had managed to see her greatest ally, her best friend, crowned king. And she made new friends along the way like Faramir and Imrahil and Eomer.

She had much to be thankful for.

After breakfast, Faramir appeared in the door. They got up and followed him as he asked them to do. Faramir led the way to the Main House where they went into a side room and sat at a large table.

"We need to discuss how you plan to get to Harad," Faramir told them once they were all seated. "For I have decided to suggest to you something that once upon a time I would never have suggested."

"You have an idea then? Something to make our trip into Mordor quicker?" Elladan asked excitedly.

"Indeed. For as I see it, it could take well over a month for you to go up to the Morannon, down into Nurn within Mordor, around the Mountains of Shadow, and into Harad." Faramir paused. "However there is another way into Mordor."

"The Tower of Cirith Ungol," Miril murmured, seeing where Faramir was heading. "You want us to go by Minas Morgul?"

"Indeed." Faramir nodded. "That place is still dangerous and can warp a man's mind. And the climb up to the tower is not for the feint of heart. But it will cut two weeks off your journey."

"Is the Spider's Pass safe then?" Elrohir asked.

Faramir sighed. "It should be. Sam told us he had killed the monster before he returned to the Shire. But be careful if you do choose that route."

"Let's say we do go through the pass of Cirith Ungol." Miril looked at a map of Mordor that sat in front of her. "How far do we still need to travel?"

"I've had our best cartographers working that out." Faramir took the map and laid it out for them all to see. "From Cirith Ungol to the first crossing of roads is about a 120 miles. From the crossing to the settlement of men at Thaurband is around 90 miles. From Thaurband to the first tributary of the Sea of Nurn is 90 miles, and to the next river along the Khand Road is 90 miles. After that, we estimate it should take you nigh on 25 days to reach Harad, going through Khand along the way."

In all, the trip was estimated to take thirty-five days and that was without stops to search for the mysterious lights in Southern Mordor, or stops to speak to the men in Nurn. Food would be scarce and water even scarcer. But they had to make it work.

"That's a lot of walking through unknown territory," Maglor muttered unhappily. "Do we know anything of what we're up against."

"Just what you and I gathered in Dol Amroth. Oliphants, tribes, jungles, and deserts." Miril shrugged. "Think of it as an adventure!"

The words sounded hollow even to her ears.

Faramir cocked an eyebrow at her before continuing. "Are you sure you want to proceed? This will be a hard journey."

"Yes." Miril immediately said, slamming her fist down on the table. "Yes. We must go."

Elrohir and Elladan nodded as well. Eventually Maglor agreed.

"Very well then." Faramir smiled. "We have a gift that arrived in a caravan from Rivendell. A special pack pony for you to use. His name is Bill."

"Bill?" Miril asked in confusion. "Who's Bill?"

"He's the pony the Fellowship used until Moria," Elrohir smiled. "He made his way back to Rivendell after they cut him loose. He's a smart beast."

"Sounds good," Miril nodded. "Can he be packed with food and water and clothing for our trip by tomorrow morning, Faramir?"

"He shall be ready by sunrise." Faramir agreed. "And do not worry about your horses. I personally shall see them delivered back to Minas Tirith, and I will update Aragorn on your plan."

And so they spent the rest of the day preparing for their trip. Miril did get the bath she wanted, and was glad too. It was unlikely there would be much bathing where they were going. Water was likely scare in the regions to the South.

They had a huge task ahead of them. And Miril hoped they were prepared for it.


	92. Tower of Sorcery

The sun rose brightly on the morning of their first day of travel. Míril woke up beside Elrohir and let out a small sigh as she sat up, trying to straighten her hair a little with her fingers from the mess sleeping on it wet had caused. Elrohir smiled at her from where he lay back in the pillows.

"Good morning," he murmured, taking her free hand in his. "How did you sleep?"

How had she slept? Not well at all. Her dreams had yet again been plagued with nightmares of the Silmaril and two blue men with staves alongside a little girl.

"Fine." She lied to him, brushing off what had happened like it was nothing.

But he saw right through the lie and laughed humorlessly as he sat up alongside her. "I heard you tossing about. But if you do not want to tell me, that is your choice."

"Not right now, melda," she muttered. "Perhaps later."

Elrohir nodded and got up, slipping on the top part of his tunic. "Come. Time to get up. The sun will be rising soon and we need to get on the road."

"Elrohir, how are we going to get a pony through the pass of Cirith Ungol?" Míril asked, letting herself fall back against the pillows in exasperation. "How did we not think of this before?"

"I spoke to Faramir after you went to bed about just that," Elrohir told her. "He confided in me that there was another path we could take should we decide to take Bill with us all the way to Harad."

"Go on." Míril nodded to him as she pulled on her clothes for the day.

"There is a way through Minas Morgul that lets out into Mordor." Elrohir explained this to her with a warning. "But that place is still riddled with spells and curses that may hinder us."

Míril grimaced. "Still, I think that will be best. We will need a pack mule, or pony, to get to Harad through Mordor."

"That's what the rest of us thought as well," Elrohir nodded to her.

They packed their bags and walked out into the common room. A quick breakfast was waiting there for them as they joined Maglor. Elladan came out soon enough and within twenty minutes they were ready. It was just in time as the sun began to peep above the hills.

Each carried their saddle bags as they made their way to the stables. There they found Faramir and Eowyn alongside who the assumed was Bill the pony.

"Bill is laden with food, water, blankets, and extra clothes," Eowyn told them. "I double checked it myself."

Faramir continued for her. "It's enough to last you at least until you reach the mannish settlement in Nurn. Also we have provided you with much more coin and goods worth trading to the former slaves in Mordor so they will help you."

"Thank you, Faramir," Elladan said sincerely. "We are in your debt."

He shook his head. "I am merely helping ensure the safety of my King. Think nothing of it."

"Best get going," Maglor interrupted. "We need to cover a decent amount of ground today. We should try to reach Minas Morgul by this time two days from now."

"Agreed," Míril said with a nod. "Thank you again, Faramir, Eowyn."

"Take care," Eowyn offered them as they took hold of Bill's lead rope and left Emyn Arnen.

Míril smiled and waved back at Eowyn before finally setting her eyes on the road ahead. The journey had begun. There would be no Western civilization for at least another month and a half. They were on their own, with only the Valar to guide them.

The journey to Minas Morgul took two days and one night that they walked straight through. When they began to approach the cursed place, Míril could feel the hairs in her arms standing up. Despite having driven out the Nazgul months ago with the defeat of Sauron, the Tower of Sorcery still had an air of evil and darkness about it.

"There it is," Míril pointed to the large black fortress that sat at the foot of the mountains.

The three half elves remembered the last time they been here. Aragorn had been leading the men of Gondor to Mordor and destroyed the bridge. Fortunately there were several large boulders that had fallen into the through way from the earthquake. They'd managed to get across that way.

"As dark as ever," Elladan muttered, still looking at the Tower. "Nevertheless, we must pass this way if we are to complete our journey."

Maglor drew his sword, starting forward as they hung back. He held the sword in his left hand and let his burnt right one hang at his side. The others looked at each other and drew their own blades before hurrying behind him. Míril led Bill who was obviously frightened, yet the beast of burden did not turn aside, instead going adamantly alongside them.

Míril looked at the gargoyles that had fallen from the Tower in the earthquake. Their twisted tongues and piercing blank stares sent a chill down her spine. For a moment she thought about running.

But she kept going, stoutly leading Bill behind her. They passed through the gate and into the tower. Míril's legs felt like jelly and they almost gave way from the palpable fear around her. Had she been purely mortal, she would not have been able to withstand the fear and mind warping of the Tower of Sorcery.

Maglor continued to lead the way. Skeletons in torture chambers lined the hallways to every side. Giant machines run by fire and smoke that once turned and caused great pain to the Free Peoples now sat dormant without their masters. A sickly glow emanated from the stones as they walked out into a courtyard behind Minas Morgul.

Dead plants and dirt were all that made up the courtyard as it backed up to the Mountains. A large cave was at the other end. Presumably this was the way into Mordor that Faramir had spoken of.

Suddenly she heard a voice.

_"Mir, I miss you."_

Eldir? That was the voice of her brother. She whipped around and pointed her sword this way and that. How was Eldir speaking to her?

On the edge of hearing, she heard someone say, "Keep moving, Miril. Don't stop."

_"Mir, why don't you answer me?"_

"Eldir?" She whispered forlornly.

Again someone said, "Míril it's not real! Listen to my voice!"

_"They are trying to take you away from me, Mir."_

"Where are you, Eldir!" Míril called frantically. "Eldir, I'm sorry! I let Father die! I let you die! I am a failure!"

Suddenly Míril felt her sword wrenched from her grasp and someone grab her, arms behind her back. She kicked and screamed trying to get free but whoever held her was not letting go. All she screamed was the name of her brother as she was torn away from Minas Morgul and carried by force into the cavern.


	93. Walking Into Mordor

When she came to, Míril had a horrible headache. Her mind pulsed with pain as if she had been drinking too much the night before. With an inaudible groan, she opened her eyes and saw a fire before her. All around her was darkness except for the burning wood before her. Her head was in Elrohir's lap and he stroked her hair absentmindedly. His brother and Maglor lay back across from them reclining against the rock. Bill the Pony lay on the ground, eating an apple.

"What happened?" she murmured, trying and failing to sit up. "I can't seem to recall."

Everyone stirred at her question. Elrohir stopped his movements for a moment before continuing.

"You don't remember anything?" Maglor asked her from across the fire.

"No, I…" she trailed off as memories flooded back to her. "Oh. Now I do."

Elrohir grimaced. "What do you remember?"

"My brother spoke to me," she said sadly. "He called to me! And then someone restrained me. And…"

She paused and they all waited to see what she would say. Míril glared.

"And then someone knocked me out!"

"That would be me," Elrohir frowned. "Mir we had to. You were trying to kill Maglor!"

"As soon as I picked you up you started struggling," Maglor explained. "We managed to wrest your sword from you but you had a few knives as well which you kept trying to reach. When it was clear you weren't going to be talked down, your husband knocked you out."

"Well that explains the headache," she muttered, sitting up. "My apologies. I don't know what came over me."

"Evil sorcery," Elladan told her. "Dark magic left over from the Nazgûl and from Sauron."

She nodded. "I assume we are under the Mountains of Shadow?"

"Indeed," Elrohir nodded. "We reckon about half way through the tunnel. We had Bill carry you for several hours here."

"I'm glad we made it this far in despite my… episode." She was still rather shaken up.

Elrohir could tell but knew she wouldn't want to talk about it. She never spoke of her brother much to anyone. He knew that while Halbarad had lived, the two of them would light candles specially for Eldir on his birth and death days. She had only brought up the day of his death once or twice with Elrohir, and even then it had been very traumatic for her to speak about.

He wondered if not only had she yet to recover from her father's death, but also from her brother's death. Elrohir remembered how shaken Aragorn and Halbarad had been the day Eldir died. The whole _camp_ had been shaken. But from what he could tell, Míril had never fully processed her grief, for either of her kin.

"Is there a plan then?" Míril asked after a moment of staring into the fire. "When do we continue on?"

"Whenever you have eaten and feel well enough to keep moving," Maglor replied. "Here. Some bread and cheese."

She took the offered meal and ate it quickly. Elrohir and Elladan meanwhile relit the torches and Maglor got Bill packed up. Finally they snuffed the fire out as Míril stood, her meal finished.

"Shall we?" she said as Elladan handed her back her sword and a torch.

They all nodded and started off. Maglor and Elrohir went in front followed by Míril leading Bill while Elladan brought up the rear.

They walked for hours upon hours. Fortunately it was a single tunnel with no branching passageways except the for the occasional side room where orcs would gather to eat, or swords and shields were stored.

Míril was glad they had packed lots of torches because by the time they rested again, their torches were burning low. They ate a small snack sized meal and continued on the slow march under the Mountains of Shadow.

It reminded Míril a bit of Moria, a place she had no desire to experience again. Fortunately there were significantly less enemies here. In fact, the company had yet to run into a single orc.

They matched in silence for the majority of the day and as day bled into night which bled into the next morning, Míril was beginning to wonder if they'd ever get out. Fortunately her prayers were answered within the hour.

"I see light," Elrohir said with a grin. "Looks to be about ten in the morning, based on the position of the sun."

They had stepped out into a rocky landscape. It was mostly grey from volcanic eruptions, but the once black cloud that had hung over the land was gone. With Orodruin inactive and Sauron gone, the sky was bright.

But it was still oddly cold for the south of Middle Earth. A chill was in the air.

"Welcome to Mordor," Elladan murmured as they stepped forward, marching onwards through the volcanic pebbles that crunched beneath their feet.

"We are heading south east from here," Elrohir said, taking out their small map and looking at it closely. "Follow the road we are on until we meet a larger one. Then we follow that road until a junction, at which we will turn south."

"Lets keep moving then," Maglor nodded.

Míril walked beside Bill and patted him on the neck. He had been such a good pony so far and she really appreciated his obedience.

All around her, signs of the former enemy occupation were visible. Old slaughter house could be seen to the right of their road. Warg pens were to the left. She was very glad indeed that Aragorn had sent in part of the Gondorian army to clean up the place of stragglers and survivors. Otherwise this trip would've been a lot more difficult.

As it was, the going was tough only insofar as the volcanic ash and dust was being kicked into the air, causing Míril at least to have occasional coughing fits, and the desolation was depressing to look at. Other than that, the trek was not too bad.


	94. At the Crossroads

They reached the crossroads on the fifth day of their traveling through Mordor. Always to their left, to the North and West, was the huge mountain of Orodruin, Mount Doom. It was inactive, or at least had been since the destruction of Sauron, but it was still an awe inspiring sight to behold. Its dark silhouette loomed up before the blue skies behind it. Míril enjoyed looking at it more than the surrounding sights.

While most of the bodies of both men and orcs had been disposed of by the gondorians sent to Mordor for clean up, there were places you could tell had been piles of dead bodies. It reeked of death everywhere. Death and suffering.

No one was much inclined to speak, so sobering was the world around them. When they at last reached the large crossroads, they made a camp for the night. There was no wood anywhere to use to make a fire, so they merely wrapped their cloaks around themselves and started to eat what meager food they had brought.

"Sauron certainly took after his master," Maglor sighed as he volunteered to take watch for as the only full elf he had little need for sleep. "This reminds me very much of the kind of destruction caused during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad."

The Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Míril recognized the title the elves had given to that fateful battle. Thousands had perished, including the then High King of the Noldor, Fingon the Valiant. Killed by Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs, even as he battled several others of those cursed Maiar. Mighty indeed had been Fingon.

Míril had always aspired most to Fingon. She had loved studying him in Rivendell. It occurred to her that Maglor had _known_ Lord Fingon. Personally!

She looked in awe upon the elf lord. It really was sinking in how much of her favorite stories this elf had seen first hand. It intrigued her so much that when Elladan and Elrohir had both drifted off to sleep, Míril was still restlessly tossing and turning, endless questions about Fingon on her mind.

"What keeps you awake?" Maglor eventually asked her, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the twins.

Míril started, surprised that Maglor had sensed her wakefulness. She sat up slowly and wrapped her cloak around her tighter for the chill of Mordor was potent. She glanced at the twins. She had to be quiet.

Getting up, she tiptoed over to where Maglor sat on a large boulder and sat down on the ground beside it. She bristled from the cold and wondered how Maglor wasn't chilly.

 _Elf,_ she reminded herself, _He's an elf._

"You _knew_ Fingon the Valiant," she said, trying to mask her excitement.

Maglor stiffened. "Yes. I did."

"What… What was he like?" Míril asked curiously.

Maglor sadly looked out across the desolate plains of Mordor. He was remembering all too vividly the battle that saw the all but absolute destruction of the Host of Beleriand. Of the people who fought, only the host of Turgon had survived with enough substance to continue for another day. Everything but that which was protected by the Girdle of Melian had been razed.

"He was a master at the sword," Maglor said at last. "Gifted with a bow as well. He was one of the most honorable elves I've had the privilege of knowing. And he was my brother Maedhros' closest friend."

"What about your brothers? What were _they_ like?" Míril looked wistfully out into the dark of Mordor.

"All were filled with a fire that burned too hot." He sighed. "But they were my brothers. They -we- fell victim to our own pride and rashness. I like to believe we are not evil, yet corrupted and tricked by it into emulating the very thing we swore to destroy."

He paused and hung his head for a moment, looking at a ring on his left hand. She could not get a good look at it and she wondered what it was. But his face and tone said it all.

Miril noted the regret in his voice. "You miss them."

"Of course I miss them," he bit back. "I am all the remains of my family!"

Míril looked at him sadly. "No. You are not."

Maglor looked at her face, puzzled, before he realized what she meant. _She_ was family. For a moment he saw in her eyes the eyes of his mother, of his father, of his brothers. She had a spark in her, a spark of fire. A spark that they shared. Maybe he wasn't so alone.

"You would be wise to be afraid of sharing blood with a kinslayer," was all he murmured as he turned away and watched the gloom around them.

Míril sighed inaudibly but nodded. He was right. She had to be careful of her emotions; she had to keep them in check. They were very strong in all regards. As she lay back down to sleep, thoughts and imaginings of what the Elder Days must have been like filled her mind. Bright banners of blues and reds and whites and golds. Brilliant armor that shone in the sun and moon. All the glory of what she imagined these days to have been like flooded her dreams.

When she awoke in the morning, the others were getting out food. Elrohir tossed her her breakfast of bread while Elladan fed Bill. Meanwhile, Maglor was examining their map, trying to make sure they were at the correct junction.

"It should take us another three days of travel if we continue to stop and rest each night," the elf told them as they finished eating. "We could potentially walk through a night or two."

"We can decide when the time comes." Elladan shrugged. "For now it is enough to know that we will soon be crossing into Nurn. That land does not belong to us, but is a free country. The former mannish slaves have set up there."

"It may very well be perilous to enter," agreed Elrohir. "But we must. We need to trade for more water and food and firewood."

"We will be fine," Míril insisted. "The will of the Valar is with us."


	95. What Fire Leaves Behind

"We will need water soon," Elladan said with a sigh as they packed up lunch on the second day since the Crossroads. "We're almost out. Perhaps another two, two and a half days, if we ration ourselves."

"We'll be fine." Míril insisted this as she looked ahead down the road.

Maglor snapped. "You say the will of the Valar are with us? Yet when did they ever help us except after all was lost?"

Everyone froze. Maglor had started becoming more angry and aggressive as the days went by. Míril frowned but shook her head. Perhaps he did not trust the Valar, but she did.

Maglor turned away and frowned at himself. He could feel it happening again. Every time he looked around at the desolate, burned wasteland, he thought of the scorched lands of Beleriand after Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame. He thought back to that horrible day.

* * *

_"What is that?" an elven sentry shouted from the walls of the fortress in Maglor's Gap._

_Blasts of horns were sounded as horsemen scouts could be seen riding swiftly back in retreat. Maglor, coming to the wall still dressed in but a tunic and robes, watched in horror as a giant lizard like creature, as big as a castle, lumbered down the entrance of the Gap and, followed by a host of balrogs and orcs, laid his beautiful countryside to waste. But that was not what caused him to look away in horror._

_For the giant wingless creature drew a great breath and hurled a column of fire from it's maw, catching the retreating horsemen. Their screams could be heard as horses and elves were burned alive. The stench of burning flesh found its way even to his fortress upon the wind._

_"Sound the alarm!" Maglor ordered with a shout. "Sound the alarm! All soldiers ready yourselves! Send the maidens and children behind us to Himring, send them to Maedhros!"_

_The might of Morgoth was coming after four hundred years of being held back. And it came in fire._

* * *

Where had the Valar been that day? That day was the first appearance of dragons, the first day of the end of the Eldar. For hundreds of years they had withstood minor attacks. The sons of Fëanor had kept the lands of Beleriand safe. The Valar had not. It was by the strength of the Eldar that Middle Earth had not been destroyed.

* * *

_"_ _Protect the children!" Maglor shouted to his guard. "We are almost to Maedhros' fortress."_

_Thousands of his elves lay dead and scortched across the countryside. The swords and lashes of the balrogs, though some were defeated, magnified the destruction that was being caused by the giant scaly beast the orcs called "Glaurung."_

_One of his scouts rode back to report. "Lord, the host is all but spent!"_

_"We must hold."_

_His castle was destroyed, the walls breeched and decimated. The majority of his warriors were dead. His personal guard had forced him to lead the retreat to protect the women and children. The ground they were leaving behind was black, charred to nothing but ash. Fire was a powerful weapon of the enemy._

_Just as Maglor thought all was lost, a slew of horns sounded from behind them as Maedhros' host came riding out to protect the vanguard._

_The brother's met on the field together. The red hair of Maedhros was unmistakable. It whipped in the wind as he tore through his warriors, looking for his brother._

_"Maglor," he shouted. "What assails you! We received strange tidings from your heralds."_

_"Fire." Maglor caughed and sputtered. "Unquenchable, sudden flames from Angband. Help get the remainder of my host inside Himring!"_

_Maedhros nodded and asked no more questions as balrogs came into view. He gave a fresh horse to Maglor and together they led the host to safety. The remaining elves of Maglor's Gap numbered but a few over a hundred. They had been all but eradicated._

* * *

The company continued the walk in silence. The only noises came from their footfalls on the dusty, rocky road and the clatter of Bill's hooves upon the ground. Hours later, nearing night time, Maglor held up his hand for them to halt.

"There are three men ahead of us. I do not think they have spotted us yet." Maglor pointed forward.

The half elves squinted and saw the newcomers. They were dressed in shabby clothes of mostly grey and bore orc weapons. Men of Nurn.

It wasn't long until the men saw them approaching and drew their weapons. Both parties walked toward each other, the trespassers with weapons sheathed.

"State your purpose in this land, Outsiders!" Growled the eldest of the three.

"We are elven travelers from far in the West seeking wares and shelter as we move on to the East and South," Elrohir nodded politely to them. "Can you aid us?"

The men looked at them in suspicion. Drawing close together, the three men of Nurn whispered quietly and cast unsure glances upon the travelers.

"Fine. We can offer it to you. As long as you have something to give us in return," offered the spokeman.

Maglor nodded. "We have much to trade."

Immediately the men's eyes brightened. Evidently that was very important to them. With a nod, they beckoned for the travelers to follow.

"We will take yah as far as Thaurband. We should reach there by dawn." The first man nodded. "I am Brute, this is Snips and that's Lash."

Strange names, Míril noted. "I am Lôminzil, this is Maglor, and these are Elladan and Elrohir."

"Welcome to Nurn," said the youngest, a boy no older than those she had tried to protect at Helm's Deep whose name was apparently Snips.

Míril bowed her head. "Thank you."

As they walked, Maglor looked up at the stars. Varda Elentarí, star-kindler. How he wished he could praise her yet again, but he could not. For the Valar had left them, and all of Middle Earth, to fend for themselves. Even those not under the ban, like the Edain and other men, they had been abandoned to Morgoth.


	96. Approaching Thaurband

"How much farther, Snips?" Míril asked the young man as they walked together side by side.

It had been at least five hours since they had met with the men of Nurn. The journey had gone on in relatively complete silence. Occasionally one of the men would comment about something they passed by but this was rare.

"Just over this hill," Snips told her. "No more than a half hour, tops."

Míril nodded before venturing a question quietly. "How did you get your names? They do not sound like normal names of Western mannish cultures."

It was the eldest who responded, to Miril's surprise. "Slave names, she-elf. We named each other while in the slave system. Nicknames. Most of us 've forgotten our real names."

She went silent, contemplating this. She had heard the horror stories told by the Gondorian soldiers who had ventured into Mordor. Stories of men and women, child slaves too. Brutally treated Men of the West and East. Even a few elves and dwarves here and there had been found, but mostly Men. They were forced to work in mines, plantations, and factoties. If you didn't work efficiently enough, you were fed to the orcs, wargs, or trolls.

The sun was just rising in the East when they reached the top of the hill. They looked down the other side and saw thatched houses and farmland surrounding a large fortress. A great lake, almost a sea, was ever further off.

"Welcome to Thaurband," Brute muttered. "That's the Sea of Nurn in the distance. Here you'll find plenty of people willing to trade with yah. Don't be stingy, either."

The four travelers nodded and, with Bill the Pony following them, made their way down the path alongside the men of Nurn. As they drew near Thaurband, Lash took the time to explain the history to them.

"That fortress there is the old prison. Now it's where Gnasher runs things." Lash pointed to it. "We also keep the Unwanteds there."

"What are Unwanteds?" Elrohir asked hesitantly.

Lash answered him with a short laugh. "Just what they sound like. Anyone who doesn't contribute, or does something people don't like."

"We do what needs doing here," Brute added as he saw their surprised and somewhat disgusted faces. "This isn't Gondor."

They were drawing near the first plots of farmland and small huts. Most were made either of stone or wood and looked precariously unstable. As they passed by, occasionally a child or two would appear and stare at the newcomers in shock and curiosity. Adults would look at them hungrily, as if knowing there would soon be new wares in the settlement.

The sunrise splashed colors of all sorts across the sky, light blues and pinks of many shades. Maglor looked at the fortress of Thaurband. It seemed more like a prison still than anything else. He knew what the prisons of Morgoth had been like; tales of their horrific torture chambers and elves who came out had been living proof of the atrocities.

"We will take you to Gnasher. He'll tell you where you'll stay and how long you're welcome," Brute told them as they drew out of the farmland and into the city itself.

The iron-black fortress loomed up right in front of them. Brute led them inside.

"Leave your pony here with me," Snips said. "I'll watch it."

Míril looked unsure and unconvinced. But in the end she relented and handed him Bill's reins so she could follow the other three elven men into the old prison. Lash took up the spot behind her. _She_ almost felt like a prisoner.

When they had climbed many winding stairs and walked down several black hallways, they arrived at a huge set of doors. Brute went in first, instructing the visitors to remain outside.

"What do you think Gnasher is like?" Míril whispered to Elrohir who stood beside her.

There wasn't time for the half elf to answer. As soon as Elrohir opened his mouth, Brute returned and beckoned for them to follow. The group went inside the large room to find a man of southern decent sitting at a large iron table. He had orc armor on and was missing an eye. Míril shuddered. But Maglor was having much darker thoughts.

* * *

" _Why did the army break early?" Maglor asked as he met his brother Caranthir on the field of battle._

" _Out scouts say Fingon's army broke because of a prisoner that was released," Caranthir told him as he cut down an orc at his side._

_The battle was just beginning. It wasn't going very well, but they had something to turn the tide, or so they hoped. Maedhros came running up to his two brothers, red hair flashing back and forth as he wielded his sword with his left, and only, hand._

" _Order your Men to attack, Caranthir," Maedhros panted as he reached them. "We need them early!"_

_Caranthir nodded and stopped one of his scouts to send the message. But just as his scout was about to take off, a great shout and clammer arose._

" _What is the meaning of this, Moryo?!" Maglor shouted at his brother between orcs. "Get your people under control!"_

_Caranthir glared back as he cut an orc's head off. "I do not know why they shout! If you still had an army this would be easier."_

_Maglor glared back at him. That cut deep, for it had been the previous battle that had seen the loss of ninety percent of his people._

" _My Lords!" An elf ran up, blood dripping from his forehead. "It is the Southern men! They have turned on us! They fight for Morgoth!"_

* * *

Maglor was jerked back to the present by Gnasher's chill voice beginning to speak.

"Welcome to Thaurband, elves." He nodded to them. "I trust you come here with only good intentions."

"We do, Lord," Elladan nodded in return. "And we thank you for allowing us to pass as we travel East and South."

Gnasher smiled. "Of course. Elves are enemies of Sauron's. Any enemy of Sauron is a friend of ours. Especially when they bring wares to trade."

The hungry look on Gnasher's face reminded Maglor just why he hated Southern men so much. For even more than Míril, he knew their treachery.

* * *

 _Hours of fighting had gone by. Caranthir's Men, the southern group of mortals, had turned on their protectors and friends. Maglor and Caranthir had cut their way through the mannish forces in vengeance. They had split not long ago. But now Maglor saw_ him _._

_Yet even before he could engage Uldor, the current leader and traitorous bastard of the Men, a great cry went up upon the field._

" _Lord Fingon is slain! Lord Fingon is slain!"_

 _Maglor almost stopped._ Not Fingon. _They couldn't have killed Fingon._

_But he wiped the tears from his eyes as he let himself focus once more on the task before him._

" _Uldor! You accursed bastard!" he shouted, readjusting the grip on his sword. "You will answer for what you did today. Face me, if you dare, spawn of Morgoth!"_

* * *

Maglor still remembered the look on that traitor's face as he slew him after nearly half an hour of single combat. It was for Fingon. His brother Maedhros had never been the same after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and the death of his closest friend. Then again, neither had he himself.

Gnasher far too much resembled Uldor and his father Ulfang for Maglor's liking. They were all men of brown skin, dark hair, and swarthy complexion.

"Stay in the city as long as you like. There are a few rooms in this fortress that you should be able to occupy, though I cannot promise much comfort." Gnasher sighed. "Such is the struggle of these times. It will certainly be more comfortable than if you'd stayed here under Sauron's occupation."

"Thank you, Lord," Elrohir bowed. "We appreciate your hospitality, whatever you can offer."


	97. A Long Expected Announcement

They were brought their packs from Bill the Pony after being led by Lash down to two former prison cells where there were now two beds and a rug each. Oil lamps and a few candles provided light to the dark rooms. Maglor and Elladan took the room to the right, Míril and Elrohir taking the one to the left of it.

"Your pony will be stabled with Gnasher's horses," Lash told them as he closed the iron doors to either cell. "Sleep now. Water and food is being prepared for you when you wake."

As the large iron door with a single sliding window closed on their room, Míril yawned and sat on her bed. Elrohir was looking through his saddle bag for something.

They were silent. Míril was contemplating something very important. She was deciding if now was the time? She wasn't sure when next she would have time alone with her husband.

It was time he knew. Soon enough, if she didn't tell him herself, he would see the change. She could already tell herself. Her clothes were getting tighter and her appetite was growing. She took more water than she had needed before. She was almost three months in.

"Elrohir, _melda_ ," she began hesitantly.

The other half elf stopped rummaging through his pack, sensing the apprehension in her voice. He stood and looked at her lovingly.

"What is the matter?" He asked her with nothing but concern in his voice, sitting beside her on her bed.

She sighed and looked at her lap. "Do not be angry, please."

Now Elrohir was confused. "Why should I be angry?"

Míril stood from her bed and paced forward, wringing her hands together. How should she start? She turned to look him in the eye.

"Elrohir, love. I am with child."

A mix of shock, excitement, joy, and fear crossed his face. He opened his mouth and closed it. Finally he leapt up and embraced Míril tightly.

"This is wonderous news!" He took her hands in his. "When did you figure this out?"

"Galadriel told me," she said. "I have known since they left."

Elrohir took a step back and looked at her in shock yet again.

"You knew before the journey? Mir, we should have stayed home then!" He frowned.

She shook her head enthusiastically. "We are where we need to be. This child will never be safe until the threat we are up against is gone. I know that."

Elrohir placed his hand above her womb. He strained a smile as he looked at his hand. Finally he lifted his eyes to his wife's.

"Our child has such a strong mother." He nodded. "We will ensure his or her safety."

Míril felt a tear drip down her cheek. She smiled and wrapped her arms around Elrohir with a happy sob.

"When shall we tell the other two?" Miril asked him.

"When we see them next! But for now." He placed a hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. "For now, we rest."

They slept in their beds for a few hours, awoken only when a small knocking sounded on their iron door. Elrohir stood and opened it for the newcomer as Miril rubbed her eyes and sat up in her bed.

Elladan, Maglor, and three young men with food and drink stood outside the door.

"Gnasher sends food," one man told them. "These two wanted to eat with you."

Elrohir stood aside and allowed the whole posse into the small room. The food and drink was left on the floor. Soon just the four elven folk were left.

"Did you two sleep well?" Maglor asked them as Míril got out of bed and joined the three on the floor for dinner.

Elrohir smiled. "We did indeed."

Elladan looked at them in confusion. "What's all the smiling about?"

Míril chuckled. Elrohir beckoned for her to go ahead.

She smiled and blushed. "I am with child."

Elladan stared at her blankly before laughing and grabbing his sister by union in a giant hug.

"Míril! This is excellent news!" He grinned at his brother. "Congratulations my dearest friends."

Maglor smiled a small smile and dipped his head to them in congratulations. Yet his expression was one of cautiousness.

"While this is certainly good news," he told them, "it is also one for concern. Your health is now of utmost importance, and we have a long journey ahead of us."

"This is true," Elrohir agreed. "You must tell us when you need anything. Food, water, rest!"

Míril smiled and shook her head. "The most important thing is that we finish this quest. The Silmaril must be found and the evil in the South defeated."

"And the safety of your child," Elladan added. "That must be of top importance as well."

"Of course," she agreed wholeheartedly.

They continued to eat and trade small conversations. Maglor noted that Míril indeed ate more and drank more than she used too. He was surprised he had not picked up on the signs sooner.

It was nearly night by the time they had finished eating. Míril guessed they must have slept many hours before eating based on this fact. It was too late to go trading for food and water. They decided to spend time together instead.

"Maglor," Míril began as she saw his pack nearby. "You're pack has always seemed so heavy. What could you possibly have in there?"

Maglor looked where she was pointing in confusion. His eyes rested on his decorated second travel bag and he sighed.

"That is my lyre. One of the few things I have saved from Valinor." He reached over and pulled his pack next to him.

They watched curiously as he unbuckled his pack and gingerly drew out the instrument. It was a beautiful dark wood decorated with blue gemstones. The strings were shining silver, perhaps strands of hair from a Telerin master lyrist

Míril inhaled with a hiss. It was gorgeous. The way Maglor held the instrument was like a father with a child. She had not seen him like this before. She caught him smiling a little as he brushed his hands over the wood.

"That is beautiful, Maglor," Elrohir nodded.

"Play us something," she begged of him. "Please, Maglor!"

He frowned and sighed. "Tonight?"

"We are celebrating, after all," Elladan added with a wink at Míril.

Maglor rolled his eyes. "Very well. But I shall not sing."

And so he began to pluck the strings. Beautiful music floated from the instrument and filled the room. He played a song that was so emotionally charged, Míril could not figure out if it made her happy or sad. It had a kind of forlorn melody, but the harmonies beneath it were ones of brighter days.

They listened for nigh on an hour. Occasionally, the little peep window would slide slowly open just a crack as some passerby wanted to know what was going on. The music put Míril to sleep and Elrohir smiled as he picked her up, slowly and carefully, placing her on the bed she had been given.

Elladan watched Maglor with hidden fascination. This elf had raised his father. This elf had seen Valinor. History remembered this elf as the second greatest muscian ever, behind only Daeron of Doriath, Luthien's minstrel.

The half elf watched as Maglor's eyes were far from Thaurband. They were traveling through fields and forests of ages long past. The music took him there. Elladan wished he had lived to see those days. Though he supposed there was plenty of heart break to go along with the splendor of the Elder Days and first age.

Maglor ended his song quietly and, without a word, slipped his lyre back into the decorated bag. He noticed that Míril was asleep and almost smiled. _Almost._


	98. Found

The next morning, the four travellers congregated in the hall in front of their prison cells turned rooms. Each had a pack filled with wares and items they were willing to trade, as well as coinage. Today they would gather information, food, and water.

"Elladan, Maglor," Míril said as they walked out of the fortress of Thaurband into the village city, "You two go down to the right back towards the farm land. We'll go towards the fishing docks on the Sea of Nurn."

"Sounds good," Elladan agreed before continuing with a whisper. "Stay safe, Míril. Be careful. Things could be dangerous here."

She smiled and nodded. Taking Elrohir's hand in hers, they made their way through the town to where the fishing village was. They weren't looking for fish, as fish wouldn't keep, but information. Perhaps even swift transportation Eastward via the Sea.

As they approached the boats and stalls on the shore where the fishermen sold their wares, Elrohir and Míril split up.

"I will talk to the men at the stalls," Elrohir told her. "Go speak with the works on the boats, if you can."

She nodded. "Good idea."

Míril went down to the shore where the blue waves washed up over the greyish, gravely sand. Out on several piers were large boats used for fishing. Míril spotted one man rummaging through a pack. He was old, a grey beard hanging from his chin that showed it. Old scars were visible all over his body but he was rather well built.

"Excuse me, sir!" Míril smiled with a wave. "Excuse me."

The man looked up at her in surprise. He watched as she came closer in confusion.

"What d'ya want?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded her head in greeting. "I am Lôminzil. I am an elf traveling with my family to the East. I have wares to trade for information."

"Hrmph." The man looked unconvinced. "Well, I might have something for yah. If you'll take it off my hands. Though I expect something in return."

Míril looked at him in confusion. "What is it?"

"It's a dagger that came to me through trade with a corsair from Umbar. Turns out it's cursed or something. Burns me every time I touch it. Now I need to get rid of it." The man reached into his pack.

Míril froze. _Burned him? Cursed?_

The man drew out the handle of a dagger. A bright light seemed to shine from the pack as the object was withdrawn. Miril's mouth dropped. It was here. On the crossbeam of the dagger was the Silmaril.

"Ouch!" The man hissed as his hand accidentally touched the gem. "Take it. If it doesn't burn you that is!"

Miril's hand trembled as she reached out to take it. But she drew back

" _Do not be afraid. It is your destiny. Handle it with care."_

She recognized the voice in her head as Ulmo's. It made sense; she was right next to the sea. Again she reached out to take it.

The light from the gemstone was so pure it threatened to blind her. Certainly it warped her mind as all she could see and think of was the jewel. It was so beautiful. It was perfection itself.

As her hand closed around the hilt, she lifted it up and took it. Hesitantly she used her free left hand to touch the Silmaril. She was not burned. She was pure.

For now.

"What do you want in return?" She asked the man quietly, still watching the Silmaril intensely.

"10 gold would suit me fine," he shrugged. "Must be a curse just on men."

She quickly fished out ten gold coins and handed them over.

"Thanks," he shrugged. "Glad to get that thing off my hands. Beautiful, yes, but treacherous."

Míril took a cloth she had and wrapped the Silmaril dagger up so the light was hidden. She sighed as the light disappeared from her sight. She wanted to keep looking at it. Forever. She wanted it.

And it was hers now.

As she walked away she shook her head. It _wasn't_ hers. The words of Gandalf echoed in her mind. She had to send it over the Sea once it fulfilled its purpose. It did not belong to her.

"Why shouldn't it?" She wondered to herself.

After all, Fëanor her ancestor had crafted it. It should be hers by birthright.

"Except for the fact that the light of the Two Trees that are within does not belong to me," she reminded herself.

No matter. It was hers for the time being. That was enough for her. For now.

"Did you find anything interesting?" Elrohir asked as he saw her wandering up, face plastered with concentration as her internal dialogue worked overtime.

She paused and hesitated. "Nothing to speak of here. Later."

He wondered what she meant but did not push it. "No matter. I found a man who will be able to take us as far as the other end of the Sea of Nurn. I paid him half already. We should be able to leave tomorrow."

"Good." Míril nodded, a frown on her face as her mind was elsewhere.

Elrohir took her hand. "Come. Let's find the others. See if they found enough food and water."

They did just that. As they approached Maglor and Elladan, the two men were finishing up trading for apples and bread at a stand.

"We've got much already," Elladan smiled. "Let's go back to Thaurband and look over the wares we found."

Maglor noted Miril's lack of concentration immediately. His gut told him something was wrong. Something was very wrong. She had seen something. He could tell by the light in her eyes.

"So your shopping was successful then?" She asked him, catching his eye as he examined her. "You found what we need?"

Maglor nodded. "We think so."

They reached their rooms without too much issue. As with the previous night, they congregated in Míril and Elrohir's side. Míril sat on her bed as the others remained on the floor. Elladan and Maglor spread out the food they had bought so they could inventory it.

"You managed to trade for quite a lot," Elrohir complimented them. "Good job."

"What did you two find?" Maglor asked nonchalantly. "Anything interesting?"

Elrohir nodded. "I managed to buy us passage on a boat that can take us Eastward on the Sea of Nurn."

"That's good," Elladan nodded. "Míril? How about you?"

They noted immediately that she wasn't listening. Instead she sat fingering her pack and muttering to herself.

"Mir?" Elladan prompted.

She looked up suddenly. "Hm?"

"Find anything worth mentioning?" Maglor asked slowly.

She glanced from her bag to Maglor. What would he do if he saw it? Would he try to wrest it from her? Would he attack her? Would they all try to take it?

"What did you find," Maglor prompted as silently he reached behind him under his cloak and put his hand on the hilt of a knife.

"Mir?" Elrohir asked cautiously.

Míril sighed. There was no getting away from this. Slowly she reached into her bag and drew out the wrapped dagger. With hesitant hands she began to unwrap the dagger with the Silmaril. Maglor instantly recognized the light that shone beneath the wrapping.

He sighed. "So it is here."


	99. On the Move Again

"That's…" Elrohir trailed off as he looked at the dagger with the brightly shining jewel inlaid in it. "It's…"

Maglor nodded, suddenly feeling a pain in his right palm. That was the Silmaril, there was no doubt in his mind. He tore his gaze away from the dagger and back to Miril's face. She was struggling with something, he could tell. Her hand was tightly wound around the hilt of the dagger as if protecting it.

"You should cover it up, Miril," Maglor told her softly.

Miril snapped her head to face him and hesitated. He was right, of course. She needed to keep it concealed. Elladan and Elrohir were already watching her carefully for any sign of weakness, she was sure. Dousing the light with the cloth, she wrapped it up once more and hid it in her pack.

Maglor sighed and rubbed his forehead. "What did you do to get it?"

Miril looked at him in confusion. "Do? Nothing. I traded ten gold coins for it."

He looked somewhat skeptical but nodded.

 _Good,_ he thought. _At least she didn't kill anyone for it. If she's telling the truth._

"We must keep that hidden," Elladan sighed. "Who knows who would want it!"

"Agreed," Maglor said quickly. "It warps the mind of elf, man, and dwarf. Hundreds of thousands of all races have died because of this."

Miril nodded and frowned. She could feel it beginning to effect her as well. When she looked at it, all her troubles faded away. At least until the thought of someone else possessing it came into her mind.

"I can feel it," she murmured quietly.

They stopped chatting and instantly looked at her. Elrohir took her hands in his.

"Do not worry, _melda,_ just think of our child. How much more perfect will our little half elf be than even the jewel of which we speak!" He smiled at her softly.

Miril began to smile as well, hanging her head in shame for her own mind. She nodded. Her child was more precious to her even than the Silmaril.

After dinner, the four travellers split to rest. Tomorrow they would leave Thaurband aboard a vessel and hopefully reach the other side of the Sea of Nurn by three days of travel, better than the six or seven on foot.

Miril slept erratically for most of the night. She kept having visions in her dreams of her killing Elrohir. She woke up with a startled scream, causing her husband to wake as well.

"Are you alright, Miril?" he asked immediately. "What is wrong?"

"I do not wish to speak of it," was all she would say, tears streaming down her face.

She looked at her hands, expecting them to be covered in blood. In her dream, she had driven Galmegil deep into Elrohir's chest, causing the sword to turn black and her hands to be stained scarlet.

She didn't know why she had killed her husband in the dream, only that it had been if her own free will. She had been angry and desperate, and somehow had thought the only way to achieve her goal was by killing her beloved.

Miril made herself go back to sleep, ignoring Elrohir's persistent questions. She tasted salt as her tears dripped past her mouth and over her lips. How could she have done such a thing, even in her dreams? Was it the Silmaril? And was it destined to come true?

In the morning, Elrohir was not there. As she sat up and changed into her travel clothes, he returned alongside the other three. According to them, they had been saying farewell to Gnasher and loading Bill the Pony with their food and water supplies.

"The boat is big enough to accommodate Bill then?" Miril asked.

"Indeed, it is quite large. The biggest one I could find," Elrohir nodded with a smile. "Come. We must get going."

As they walked through the town, Miril realized this would likely be the last settlement of Western men she would see for almost two months. It would take upwards of a month of travel time to reach Harad and only the Valar knew of how long they would remain there.

They arrived at the boat and Miril led Bill up into it. There was a large and spacious animal cage waiting for him. They placed him inside and Miril assured the beast that they would be there the whole time.

The crew of the boat was kind enough, and the Captain was pleasant. He told them they could go bellow decks if they so desired, but were also welcome up top.

The trip took four days in all. Miril spent most of it watching the way the sailors worked, or looking out at the blue water around her. She had never been on such a large expanse of water; the Anduin was the largest she had been in until now.

When at last they reached a dock mid way through day four, Miril quickly undid Bill's cage and took him out. Elrohir paid the remainder of the price to the Captain before he, Elladan, and Maglor followed Miril onto dry land.

"Up there, top of the hill." pointed the Captain. "That starts the Khand Road. That'll be what you want. It heads East and then South after the Mountains end."

"Thank you, sir," Elrohir bowed. "Take care."

Together the four travellers, plus Bill, began the couple hour March along the tributary to where the Khand Road crossed. When at last they reached it, they found it to be a well trodden road.

"According to what the locals in Thaurband said," Maglor muttered, looking at the map, "there should be another tributary that crosses the Khand Road about ninety miles from here."

"Let us walk, then." Miril took a few steps forward.

The others followed her. Maglor tucked the map back into a side pocket of Bill's saddle bags. All they had to do was follow the road, simple really.

They had begun their journey nearly three weeks previous, leaving Emyn Arnen mid to late June. July was now all but half gone. They were beginning to feel the intense heat of the south as they drew further from inner Mordor. For though Mordor had been unnaturally cool for its geographical location, even it began to warm.

They could see the Mountains in the distance beginning to peater off. The gap that led into Khand from Mordor was perhaps five days' travel ahead.


	100. New Foes

It was four days later when they reached the edge of the Mountains of Shadow, the edge of Mordor. Large banners with the symbol of Khand marked the border along the road. Miril saw also that a watchtower had been built and atop it were three men, and below were two.

"Halt!" one of them yelled.

His voice was rough and unlike that of the Western men. His face was dark and his eyes brown. He wore the uniform of the Variags, the warriors of Khand. The travellers stopped and waited for the two men on the ground to approach.

The man who had spoken before continued, his curved scimitar out and in front of him. "Who are you and what are you doing on the Khand Road?"

"We are elves looking to reach Harad. We come from Thaurband seeking refuge," Maglor told him with a bow.

The man who had spoken narrowed his eyes and use his scimitar to lift Maglor's hair and check his ears. Identifying him as elven, the man turned to his companion and they spoke in their strange language.

"Very well," he nodded at last. "We will not turn away refugees from Thaurband. The way to Harad is along this road. It will take you at least twenty days to reach Harad. We advise you to stop at settlements along the way. Caravans may also pass you by on the road."

"Thank you," they said, bowing deeply to them.

The Variag soldiers let them pass by. For many minutes, Miril could feel the gaze of the watchers as they made their way down the road. But at last they left the view of the Mountains.

The days passed by without much difficulty. It grew hotter and hotter as they went more South. Soon enough the road turned East. They encountered small villages of Khand along the way and refilled water and food there.

On the evening of the tenth day from the start of Khand, They saw in front of them a large forested area that the road went through.

"What is that?" Miril asked in amazement. "It does not look like any forest I have seen before."

"A jungle," Maglor told her. "There was one such like it in Valinor."

Elladan and Elrohir were just as amazed and curious as Miril. None of them had seen a jungle before. As they drew closer to the treeline, she began to hear noises of birds and animals of all kinds coming from inside. The trees were huge and had many layers. Vines hung down and the ground was covered in dead and decaying leaves. Only the road was clear of trees.

It was very humid, almost unbearable so. Water seemed to drip from the leaves even without rain. Bugs flew around them, causing Miril to jump when they flew too close. A small animal ran across their path, it's little legs and long nose reminding her of a tiny Mûmakil just without tusks.

As if on cue, a huge, blasting noise was heard ahead of them. A trumpeting and a booming reverberated through the trees. The travellers jumped aside as down the road came a small Mûmakil with a rider on its back and two donkeys behind. Other men and women of Khand walked alongside.

They gave the travellers strange looks but did not stop their walking. Miril saw the women's beautifully colored outfits and gasped. They were gorgeous. She wondered what kind of wares they were selling.

Yet as quickly as the caravan appeared it was gone. Miril, Maglor, Elladan, and Elrohir continued on their way through the jungle. They encountered a few other animals. Some clung and swung between the trees using their tails and arms and legs to balance. Others were like cats but larger. The group had tried very hard to avoid these as they looked rather dangerous.

It took two days to get through the jungle. When they reached the other side, it was viable farmland for about the same distance. Here, homesteads were plentiful and they encountered many of Khand's people.

Miril was struggling to hold on to the hatred she had felt for Southrons. Part of her did not want to let go, but when she saw the playing children and loving mothers, she saw they were people too. Every day she grew a little less bitter and a little more sad.

She had slain husbands, fathers, brothers during the War of the Ring. She was realizing that others felt the way she did at losing her own father.

Maybe they weren't so bad after all.

By the twenty-second day since Mordor, the end of July had gone and the beginning of August had arrived. Miril was now quite obviously pregnant. It did not inhibit her movement as much as she thought it would, but it still made things somewhat difficult. It was on that twenty-second day that they reached the border with Harad.

Being of very pale skin among the brown skinned Southrons caused them to stick out quite obviously. The first few villages they stopped by refused to help them.

Miril's hatred began to be rekindled.

Finally, on the twenty-sixth day since Mordor, a week into August, the group was allowed to stay in a village in the desert.

"Thank you," Maglor nodded to the chief. "My daughter needs rest as she is with child."

The chief nodded. "There is a house that has offered to take you in for the time being."

A woman led the small group to a large house at the edge of the village. Inside were several children of varying ages as well as a woman who must've been a village elder.

"Sit." She nodded to them. "You shall stay here."

They smiled and nodded. The elder woman led them to a side room where she had made cots for them. Bill was housed in the village stable but the companions made sure to bring their belongings inside with them.

Miril heaved a sigh as she finally got to rest. Her feet hurt and she felt like she was lugging around extra baggage. Though with a smile, she supposed she was.

"Can I get you anything, _melda_?" Elrohir asked her while the other two prepared dinner outside. "Water? A blanket?"

"I just need to rest," she shook her head.

He nodded and brushed her hair out of her face as she lay down.

"Rest easy, love."

Meanwhile, not far from the village, bright lights streaked across the sky and a scream was heard. Something sinister was at work in the area. A darkness creeped through the town as all slept.

Alone outside, a young Haradrim girl sat playing in the sand. She was too full of energy to sleep, and as an orphan she could go where she liked whenever she liked. Unfortunately, she was in way over her head.

For the darkness had a mind, the darkness had a name. Long before the world was formed, the mind of Illuvatar created the Ainur. The Ainur were comprised of the Valar and the Maiar. Ainur could change shape, shift appearances. Some lost this ability, such as Sauron and Morgoth who poured too much of their power into their creations, limiting their ability to change forms.

But not all lost that power. One refined itself so much that it took the form of pure darkness. Darkness was its ally. It gave itself a name. Morloth. Black Flower. In Harad it was known simply as Black Heart.

And on this night, Morloth was looking for a new victim. One to bring to her new friends, two other Maiar, who wished for sacrifices to try to break her former master, Morgoth, out of the Void. They were close, too. All they needed was the blood spilled in kinslaying.

As the little girl played with her rocks in the sand, suddenly she felt a chill. She dropped her toys and looked around.

Her scream was silenced as the Darkness filled her body.


	101. Taking Action

When Miril woke up the next morning, it was to a great murmur outside the thatched house they'd slept in. Elladan was at the window looking out. Maglor and Elrohir sat eating breakfast.

"At last you are up," Maglor nodded with a small smile. "Good."

"What is going on outside?" Miril asked in confusion as she stood and walked to where the window was, pushing Elladan gently to the side so she could see.

What she saw froze her heart.

A girl, a Haradrim, sat motionless on the ground. Her eyes were closed. On her cheek was a large black splotch like tar. But Miril knew that face. It was the girl from her dreams. She quickly withdrew from the window and backed against the far wall in fear and dread. A sense of the darkness she had felt in her nightmares filled her mind.

"What is it?" Maglor asked urgently, instantly jumping up as he saw the fear in her eyes.

Miril shook her head, eyes closed. As she gasped and opened her eyes she glanced at her friends.

"That girl. She's from my dreams. The one who wields darkness." Miril sunk down and asked for water.

Elrohir immediately poured the glass for her and she took it. As she swallowed, something strange happened. She fainted instantly and entered a dream state. The world around her went white and water filled the area.

* * *

" _Miril Fëanoriel," Ulmo's voice boomed as he rose from the glass like water around her._

" _Lord Ulmo! It is the child from my dreams!" Miril gasped and stood quickly. "What shall I do?"_

" _Remember your weapon. The foes you are about to face as beings of incredible power. No ordinary weapons, not even the great sword you bear, can harm the three you will face." He paused. "The only thing capable of killing your enemies is the Silmaril and its dagger."_

" _Who? What three?" She begged him for more information._

_Ulmo shook his head. "Námo has declared that I tell you only this: Gandalf, Saruman, Radagast. They were not the only Maiar to reside in Middle Earth. Three still remain and they desire to return Morgoth to the world of the Living. But also remember who you are. Remember that you are strongest with allies. Do not allow these beings to turn you against your friends."_

" _Of course, my lord." She bowed and knelt on a single knee before the Lord of Waters._

" _Go now. Irmo shall release your mind from the dream state."_

* * *

She slowly began to wake up. All three of her companions were huddled around her in concern.

"Mir!" Elrohir grabbed his wife and hugged her tight. "Thank the Valar you are awake. What happened?"

"Ulmo spoke to me again," she revealed to them slowly. "He warned me that we are facing three enemies. All Maiar."

Maglor looked pained. "This is not good."

"He said the only way to kill them is with the dagger of the Silmaril." She sighed. "The girl must be one of them."

"Did he mention anything else?" Elladan pressed.

She shook her head, deciding that was all they needed to know. The rest was personal.

Maglor who was standing away from the group made a shushing noise. He moved out of sight more and watched as he could. The others went silent.

Maglor watched as two wizard like men, dressed in blue robes and with long white beards, came towards the group of wailing townsfolk. They quieted enough so that the four companions could hear what was being said between the men and the chief.

"Alatar, Pallando," the chief bowed stiffly. "We see you have arrived just in time to take the girl."

"Is that an accusation, Chief," the one called Alatar asked slyly.

The chief bit his tongue. "Never."

"We saw the signs in the sky and came to see for ourselves if the Black Heart had claimed another victim," Pallando revealed to the gathered Haradrim. "We also wished to offer our services yet again."

"We still have not seen the other victims since you took them to your altar of Melkor," the Chief sighed. "I assume you are trying your hardest?"

"But of course," Alatar nodded. "Removing the Black Heart is tricky business."

The chief sighed. "Very well. Take the girl. Do what you can."

The Wizards touched her with their staves, causing her to call into a deep sleep. Pallando lifted her up and put her in a cart they had brought. Off they went, out of the village.

Maglor signalled the all clear to his companions. "They are gone."

"It was them, wasn't it?" Miril whispered as she walked slowly to the window to join Maglor. "Two men in blue."

"Building an altar to _Melkor_ ," Maglor hissed angrily. "My father named him Morgoth, and by this name he should always be known! Black Foe of the world! May he rot in the Void forever!"

"Two of Five. The Two Forgotten," Elladan sighed, recalling what the possessed knight had told them in Minas Tirith. "Two Istari."

The four elven men and woman made their way out the door to where the chief stood, head bowed, where Alatar and Pallando had left him. They approached slowly.

"Who were they?" Miril asked the Haradrim chief as he looked up.

"Alatar and Pallando. Two Wizards who live at the top of that ridge." He pointed it out to them. "There they pretend to cure our people of the Black Heart."

"Pretend?" Maglor asked in surprise. "How so?"

"I have many eyes and ears, outlanders. I have seen the cages and the blood." The chief sighed. "Yet we can do nothing. We know they mean to open a rift in the Blackness to bring He Who Will Not Be Named back to the living. Ever they are looking for fresh blood, trying to get the correct type for their spells."

"Do they cast this darkness on your people?" Miril asked. "Is it a spell?"

The man shook his head. "Like unto a creature of its own is the Black Heart. It thinks for itself."

The companions stared at each other in surprise.

Maglor spoke up. "Perhaps we should speak in private, sir. We have something that might interest you to know."

The chief looked at them skeptically but nodded. He led them to his hut and they sat inside on the ground in a circle. He told them to continue.

"We are not elvish refugees," Maglor began.

Miril lifted her hand to stop the man from drawing his scimitar. "I am Miril Fëanoriel, ward of King Elessar of Gondor. This is my husband Prince Elrohir, his brother Prince Elladan, and our friend Maglor."

The man narrowed his eyes. "What do you want with our small village in Harad, outlanders?"

"We journey here from Gondor due to a dream and an attack on our king by someone possessed by the Black Heart." Elrohir paused. "We are here to stop these Wizards and this being of darkness."

The man skeptically surveyed them. "How can I trust you?"

"We have only our word to off you." Miril shook her head. "But we _will_ be leaving soon to follow the Wizards. We would appreciate any knowledge you have on them."

And so they spent almost an hour speaking to the townsfolk and warriors for information. They set out equipped with only the swords and pouches of water. In one pocket, Miril placed the blessed dagger. She refused to let anyone else carry it. It still had a hold on her mind. Maglor even left his lyre behind with the other supplies. They would retrieve it after they killed the evil Istari. _If_ they killed the evil Istari.

The walk wasn't too hard. It was hot, but evening was setting in by the time they approached the hideout of the Istari. They watched from the shadows as Alatar and Pallando placed the girl on the ground. She was awake now, but her black eyes were unseeing. It wasn't until Alatar drew out a crystal and whispered a spell that things changed. The darkness infecting the girl left her, flying into the crystal like it was a cage. Alatar then kicked the frightened, screaming girl in the head, knocking her out.

"You can come out, half elves." Pallando laughed. "Morloth is tucked away."

Three slowly came out from behind their boulder. But Elrohir had done something sneaky. He had reached over and taken the dagger out while they'd hid. He had a plan to take out at least one. Elladan saw him and nodded silently ever so slightly.

"Who is Morloth," Elladan asked, drawing the Istari's attention towards him as Elrohir snuck around behind the Altar of Morgoth.

"An ancient Maia who now serves us," Alatar smiled in response. "You know who we are. You must be Miril, Elladan and Elrohir."

Maglor nodded, catching immediately the fact that the Istari had not known of his coming. How perfect. Miril wondered what was happening until Alatar gave a gurgling cry.


	102. Legends

As soon as the blade slid from the chest of Alatar, the fighting began. Miril looked to her side, feeling around on her belt, and found that the Silmaril dagger was missing. She now knew where it was as the bearded blue wizard fell forward, the life gone from his eyes. Behind him, Elrohir stood with blood dripping from his forehead. The dagger was stained red and he held it up still. Everyone stared.

The black crystal that had held fast Morloth in her cage broke as his body hit the ground.

Pallando just stared, then grinned, as a dark magic fled from the crystal cage. It flew through the air as if it was thinking. The four companions watched helplessly as it once more filled the body of the frightened, young Haradrim girl.

Pallando decided to try a different tactic. With a thrust of his staff, he knocked the dagger from the hand of Elrohir. It went flying to the ground and spun out of reach, now landing between all five remaining opponents.

"Miril Fëanoriel," he began slowly, eyes trained on the girl. "Young one. Child of misfortune and passion. Surely you are tired of losing those you love."

Miril was struck dumb as Pallando spoke. All her worry seemed to melt away as she locked eyes with the remaining blue wizard.

"Miril, do not listen to him," Maglor insisted as he and Elladan circled to surround the wizard. "He will only twist your mind!"

Pallando refused to be baited and held her gaze, for as long as they lacked the dagger with the Silmaril, the blessed dagger, they could not harm him. "Haven't you ever wondered if they could be brought back?"

"What?" She whispered.

Pallando nodded slowly. "What if I told you that your brother, your father, both of these could be brought back for but a small price."

Vaguely she could hear her companions urging her not to listen. But she had only ears for Pallando. The spell put on her by Pallando was only part of it; her own desire to be reunited with her kin was overpowering her good judgement. It was not mind control. She had the free will to resist. But she chose not to. She pretended to herself that he could be believed because that is what she wanted.

Miril fell to her knees. She felt tears stinging her eyes.

"How?" she asked, voice cracking.

Pallando smiled as he held her gaze. He narrowed his eyes and raised his staff to point at Elrohir.

"I need the blood of one you love."

_The blood of one killed in kinslaying._

Elrohir stared at her and she at him. He looked at her pleadingly.

"No, don't do it. He's lying!" Elladan shouted as he ran to his brother's side, not trusting in Miril's ability to resist.

Maglor remained silent. He watched as the Haradrim girl, now possessed by the Maia Morloth, began to slowly wake up but remained still as yet not a threat. He took in the scene in front of him. The dagger was still out of reach.

Miril stood, tears flowing down her face. She adjusted her grip on Galmegil and slowly walked forward.

"Love, please." Elrohir pleaded as he too adjusted his sword in his hand. "Do not fight us."

"I need to see them again," she cried. "If there's a way to bring them back. I must try!"

Elladan shook his head. "Don't do this."

Steel hit steel as Miril swung Galmegil at Elrohir. They clashed loudly, sword hitting sword. Miril side stepped and swung at Elladan, kicking Elrohir in the stomach. The other twin blocked as well.

Pallando smiled villainously as he turned his full attention to the fight.

"Ah!" Miril screamed in pain as her vision went blurry.

Elladan's sword had caught her in the thigh. She drew back and shook her head to try to regain focus. The pain was horrible but she reminded herself again and again that it was all to see her brother and father again.

"Stop this, _melda_ ," Elrohir insisted. "We do not want to hurt you."

"You will not," she snarled.

They clashed again and Miril spun into Elladan, forcing him to drop his sword. She kicked him in the stomach and he went flying. As she went to pick up his sword, Elrohir landed a blow on her arm. A deep cut formed along her left forearm.

She backed up and grabbed the cut with another scream. With a flurry she sped forward and matched Elrohir's swings blow by blow. Pallando smiled in glee as she knocked him to the ground.

But then suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his back and chest. Blood spurted from the dagger wound now in his body. Miril screamed as her only hope for seeing her brother and father again was ripped from her grasp.

Maglor stood there, holding the hilt of the dagger. He shouted in pain as it burned him, but yet again he plunged the dagger deep into Pallando's back. He would not allow Miril to become a kinslayer like he had. She was still pure. Broken, but pure.

Pallando fell forward, landing on his face in a pool of his own blood. Maglor dropped the dagger with the Silmaril at last, pulling his now burnt left hand in close to his chest.

Miril dropped Galmegil with a sob, realizing in that moment what she had been about to do had been caused by her own brokenness and the influence of the now dead Istari. She turned to face Maglor when the three half elves gasped.

Morloth, in the form of the Haradrim girl, had driven a sword through Maglor's torso. He screamed in pain as he fell forward to his knees. Miril's piercing cry as her friend walked the line between life and death was enough to distract Morloth as she drew out the sword with a smile. The girl began to laugh like she had in Miril's dreams. But Miril would have none of it.

The half elf woman, grabbing her sword off the ground and struggling forward due to her injuries, approached Morloth. The Maia glared and barred her teeth. She stretched out her arm and sent a spike of black magic at Miril. But the half elf blocked it with Galmegil, forcing Morloth to back up.

Elladan and Elrohir ran at her, distracting the Maia. She engaged in combat with them, giving Miril time to grab the dagger.

She hesitated for a moment. Was there a way to separate Morloth from the girl? If there was, then she might be killing the girl needlessly. But in that moment Morloth managed to land a blow on Elladan and Miril made up her mind.

She threw the dagger straight at the five year old. It met its mark and hit her in the chest. Miril ran forward and drew it from the body of the girl.

"I'm sorry," she cried into the girl's lifeless body as she took it in her arms.

At that moment, the black essence of Morloth flew from the dead body of the girl. It was loose. Now was her chance.

Miril struggled to stand and held the Silmaril out in front of her. The light shone brightly as it cast its rays forward. A screeching noise came from the black magic as it began to wither away. It tried to flee, but each time it did so, Elladan or Elrohir would corral it back with their swords.

Finally, with a last shriek, it disappeared forever. Miril dropped the dagger as she fell to her knees, the pain and blood loss taking over her. The task was done. She had come so close to failing but she had been saved by…

"Maglor!" She screamed in agony.

Forcing herself to crawl over to where the elf was barely hanging on, she took his burned hands in hers.

"Thank you," she whispered through her tears, leaning close to his ear.

"You are no kinslayer. Find Valinor." He nodded ever so slightly and managed to cough out a last sentence or two as the blood continued to flow from his mouth. "Namarië, Miril Fëanoriel, last of my kin. Weep not for me. I go to join my father and brothers!"

She choked on her tears as he closed his eyes. "Namarië, Maglor!"

Elladan and Elrohir stood by, their identical forms both bowed low in respect and solemn sadness. At that moment, the clouds opened and a rare rain for a Haradrim summer poured down. It washed away the blood from their hands. Miril continued to kneel by Maglor's still body, sobbing as the water drenched her body and caused her hair to stick to her face and back.

Finally the Twins, knowing she needed medical attention and healing, forced her to sit as they wrapped her two deep cuts. Yet she continued to remain by the body of Maglor. She refused to leave it for almost an hour.

While she stayed there, the brothers took the time to destroy the evil altar to Morgoth that the Blue Wizards had erected. They tore down the black stones and bleached white skulls and bones. The blood stained atop it was beginning to be washed clean by the torrential downpour.

Slowly the local townsfolk came to see if the companions had been successful. As they approached the scene, a few looked in wonder upon the bodies of the fallen. They downcast their eyes upon seeing the broken body of Maglor and the grieving Miril.

The chief of the village took the Twins aside and spoke to them quietly. He thanked them for their service to the Haradrim village and assured the Twins that they would make peace with Gondor and ensure others of Harad did as well.

"Tell your king that he shall have at least one ally in Harad," the chieftain insisted. "For you have done us a great service in breaking the power of these demons."

"We shall let him know," Elladan nodded quietly. "Is there a place we can sleep for the night, out of the way? We are still grieving for our companion."

The chief nodded. "You shall have my house tonight. No one shall bother you."

And so at last they managed to guide Miril away from Maglor's body and back to the village. There they tended to her wounds and theirs yet again.

Miril was silent. She was stuck within the confines of her constant, dark ruminations. Elrohir had retrieved the Silmaril and packed it away as well as placing Galmegil in front of her packs so she knew where it was. But none of that mattered to her.

Elrohir sat silently across from her in the corner, watching as she lay down and stared ahead with unseeing eyes. He didn't blame her for attacking him. Not really. It had hurt at the time, the fact that she had given in to the spell. He knew she could've resisted had she tried hard enough. Yet he also knew that with her pregnancy, she had become more volatile and unpredictable, and certainly more emotional. She hadn't meant to hurt him, nor Elladan. He had to believe that.

" _Melda_ ," he began, a tear dripping down his cheek. "Beloved. Please talk to me."

She sighed, closing her eyes to try to keep fresh tears from falling. She failed as they filled her eyes and streamed down her face. Elrohir scooted over and ran a hand through her hair.

"Shhhh," he comforted her. "It will all be okay, in the end. _Aurë entuluva._ Day shall come again."

"Can we leave this place tomorrow?" she finally choked out. "I wish to return home."

Elrohir gave a small smile. "Of course. Elladan is out restocking our supplies for the journey home. We shall be back to Minas Tirith by two weeks' time."

She nodded, snuggling into Elrohir's side as he sat next to her as she lay down. She didn't correct him, but she had meant the North, meant Rivendell and Lake Evendim, as much as she'd meant Minas Tirith.

She longed to walk beneath the bows of Mellyrn trees in Lothlorien, but she knew this would never happen. She had wanted to show Maglor all the beauty that was still in the world. But that would never happen either.

"Our child is safe because of you, my love," Elrohir reminded her, guessing her thoughts had gone dark yet again.

She shook her head. "Our child is safe because of Maglor. Yet still it _is_ safe and for this I am ever grateful."

Elladan came in an hour later, drenched still from the rain. Elrohir asked him if it was still raining.

"It stopped not long ago." He plopped down on a cot. "The village is sparing us two horses as a type of payment. Should make our journey faster."

"This is good news!" Elrohir then hesitated before continuing. "And Maglor's body?"

"They are building a pyre with whatever dry wood can be found," replied his twin.

An hour later and Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir met the townsfolk outside for the burning of Maglor's body. Miril hid her face beneath her black cloak hood. In the dark of late evening, she was hidden well.

Maglor's body was laid atop the pyre reverently by the Twins. Handing Miril a lit torch, they stepped back and bowed their heads in respect. Miril looked long at the body of her distant uncle. But at last she walked forward and lit the wood.

"Namarië, Makalaurë," she cried loudly. "Auta í lómë!"

The Twins echoed her cry. "Farewell, Gold-cleaver. Night is passing!"

 _Gold-cleaver._ A fitting name for Maglor. It had been his name in Quenya before Maglor.

Miril felt tears falling down her face as the flames began to swallow Maglor viciously. She had finally begun to connect with her distant kin. Now she alone of the Fëanorien blood existed.

The flames hungrily licked at his body. The townsfolk eventually left the scene, leaving the Twins and Miril to keep vigil. Miril stood stock still for a very long while, watching as Maglor was eaten by the flames. It smelled of burnt flesh, but she didn't care. The least she could do was keep watch over the body of the elf who had saved her from committing kinslaying.

Silent but ever present, some ten feet behind Miril, were the Twins. Side by side they stood, identical pillars of support. They would not leave until Miril was ready. When at last the flames had died down, and she turned away to return to bed, they took her hands and walked with her back to the house the chief had lent to them.

Together they slept.


	103. A New Song

When they left the next morning, Miril was still somber. She didn't speak much. Instead, she clutched the bag that had held Maglor's lyre tight to her chest. Eventually she put it back onto Bill the Pony when she mounted up atop Elrohir's horse. They attached Bill's lead rope to their horse and started off.

They passed through many villages on their way up the Harad Road. Night followed day and day followed night for three weeks. They slept little. Each day, Miril was quiet as she lay against her husband's chest as they rode. As they drew closer to Gondor, she would smile as she saw something familiar.

She felt the child inside her kicking and turning. Five months had gone by. Boy would Aragorn be surprised when they arrived!

On the day they finally spotted the wall surrounding the Pelennor Fields, Miril was quite ready to be done riding. The guards halted them before looking in wonder upon the three half elves.

"Mordirion," called a captain, "Send word to the King that the Lords Elladan and Elrohir, and Lady Míril, have returned!"

A young lad leapt atop a speedy horse and took off to Minas Tirith. The three travellers followed more slowly. Miril smiled as she looked upon Minas Tirith. They were almost home.

 _Home_. She supposed Minas Tirith would always be her home. Just because she was to have a child did not mean she would never return to the North, of course. But it might take some time to get there.

When at last they reached the gates, she was surprised to find a company of dwarves there. They were repairing the broken doors. They bowed to the three half elves in greeting and let them through.

"Looks like we have some guests," Miril smiled. "I wonder…"

A voice interrupted her thoughts. "Miril!"

"Gimli!" She grinned as she caught sight of the dwarf she had been about to ask about and dismounted.

Gimli appeared and gave her a hug. "It is good to see you."

"You as well!" She laughed at his enthusiasm and his face as he saw she was with child. "I am due this year, as you can see."

"Does Aragorn know?" He asked her this excitedly. "He had been constantly waiting for news from you, you know. All of you!"

The twins laughed as he finally addressed him.

"Lord Gimli, is our brother in?" Elladan asked him.

Gimli nodded. "Indeed, lads! Others are there, too! When got word from the rangers of Ithilien that you had been seen coming up from Harad, they sent word to some friends."

The four companions walked, leading the horses and pony to the royal stables. Leaving the beasts there, Miril followed Gimli with the twins up to the citadel. When the doors swung open, they were met with a gleeful Aragorn and a few other companions.

"Friends!" Aragorn cried as he rushed forward and embraced Miril, then the brothers. "My heart rejoices to have you home at last!"

Miril hugged her foster uncle tightly. Then she looked around at the others. Eomer was there with Lothiriel. Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Legolas of Mirkwood stood there also with Eowyn and Faramir. But the biggest surprise of all was Arwen, who was obviously with child also.

"I see we three all have reason to rejoice," Arwen smiled, coming forward and gesturing to Eowyn who stood by, her abdomen large from her pregnancy.

Aragorn laughed as he grabbed Miril yet again. "Halbarad would be so happy for you!"

"I know," she murmured into his shoulder. "I know."

They greeted the others before soon Aragorn took them aside to debrief them on their quest. Elladan and Elrohir did most of the storytelling. Miril would jump in occasionally, but not often. Two packs she had near her: one with the Silmaril, one with Maglor's lyre. When at last they came to the part about the Silmaril, all eyes turned to Miril.

"We must send it over the sea," she declared after several moments of silent hesitation. "It belongs in Valinor. Let the Ring Bearers take it with them when they sail West."

The bag with the Silmaril was never opened again in Middle Earth. It was decided it would be too risky. It might corrupt a good soul.

The company spoke of Maglor and his sacrifice for the good of the group. Aragorn listened intently to their story, and smiled at the end, though the smile was filled also with sadness over Maglor's death.

"So the evil in the South has been dealt with. Good. And perhaps a new peace with Harad shall be ushered in because of it." He stood from his chair at the table. "Gondor thanks you. I thank you. Now, rest and relax. Especially you, Miril."

They all agreed and Miril went up to her room again. After a bath and a change of clothes, she stood in her room and stared at her bed. Elrohir had gone with his brother to see to the horses and Bill. She was alone. Sitting on her bed, she slowly undid the bag that held Maglor's lyre. She would never forget him, nor the fact that she shared his kin.

In that moment, she chose. She chose immortality. She embraced the fate of the Eldar. She knew she would not see her father until the end of the world, and even then nothing was certain. But she could not reconcile forcing Elrohir to abandon his own family. And she had caused enough trouble trying to reclaim what she had lost. She _had to let go._ The Silmaril had judged her worthy in the end, thanks in no small part to Maglor's sacrifice. She would some day go over the sea to Valinor. But that was not this day.

Today, she would honor those she had lost. she would start with Maglor. She looked at his lyre, smiling sadly.

And she began to play.


	104. Epilogue: Part One

Miril watched happily as her young son chewed on a small stuffed toy. He was two years old and the love of her life. Aderthon was his name. The _Reuniter_. For he had united all the houses of the Eldar and Edain into one line. His dark brown hair echoed his mother's but he had the grey eyes of his father.

Next to him played two other young boys. Eldarion, son of Aragorn, and Elboron, son of Faramir. Eldarion looked like the half elven princeling he was with his dark hair and sparkling grey eyes. Faramir and Eowyn's son had light brown hair like his father and blue eyes like his mother. He was the fiercest of the little trio, feisty like Eowyn. The three were best of friends, especially Eldarion and Aderthon. They did everything together.

Miril and Arwen had grown close, raising their sons together. The boys loved playing in the small courtyard behind the house Miril and Elrohir now lived in. Often Miril would babysit the children, especially when Elboron came to Minas Tirith like this week.

"Uncle Elladan" was the favorite for Eldarion and Aderthon, though. He would make the children laugh and laugh. He could go on forever. Elrohir had always said his brother was great with children. Miril had to agree. Whenever she needed to run errands in the city, sit in on a meeting, or practice her sword skills in the practice yard, Elladan would step in. Especially now while Elrohir was in the North.

Her husband had left about a month ago with a caravan to visit Rivendell. He was, at last, taking the Silmaril there. He insisted on doing it himself. Elrohir was expected back in another month or so. Elladan was being very gracious and helping her out while he was away.

The North and the South were both prospering. It was half way through Year 3 of the Forth Age. Annuminas was rebuilt and the Dunedain of the North strong and numerous again as they rebuilt their numbers. The Dunedain of the South were also plentiful. A peace with Harad had been established thanks to the efforts of Miril, Elrohir, Elladan, and Maglor. Traffic with the dwarves was now a regular occurrence, also. Miril had yet to visit Erebor, but she hoped to get there eventually.

The world was good, and she thanked the Valar for that.

"Ami!" Aderthon said, using shorthand of the elvish word for mother. "Ami when Uncle Elladan coming over?"

"Soon, _melda,_ soon." She smiled. "He wouldn't miss seeing Eldarion _and_ Elboron for anything!"

With a big hug, she embraced her little son. All was right with the world. She wondered what the future would hold, but for now, she was content with her loving son in her arms.

"Tell us a story, Ami!" Aderthon begged as he and his friends sat down in front of her. "Tell us!"

Miril nodded and looked around. She saw to her left above her fireplace was a lyre.

"Let me tell you the story of Uncle Maglor."

 


	105. Epilogue: Part Two

It was winter in Gondor and Míril was busy cleaning the house. She swept the floor and dusted the furniture. Gingerly she reached up above the fireplace and laid her hand on Maglor's harp. She smiled. Everything was quiet and peaceful.

"Ami!" came a loud scream of anger as the front door opened.

Miril closed her eyes and counted to ten, in Sindarin, backwards, as she heard three pairs of feet pitter-pattering across the floor and into the room.

_I will not strangle them,_ She thought to herself. _I love them._

She turned and faced her children. Aderthon, now ten years old, was behind his two five year old sisters, the twins Círeth and Fëalas. Their rich red hair, which had been nearly combed, was now a muddy mess.

_Scratch that,_ she realized. _Círeth's is a muddy mess._

Suddenly a laugh came from Aderthon's arms. Miril sighed as she saw her youngest daughter, the two year old, silver haired Tinneth. The little girl clapped her mud covered hands as she giggled.

"Ami!" shouted Círeth again. "Tinneth got my hair muddy!"

Fëalas rolled her eyes. "We were playing in the mud."

"I didn't put my hair in it!" Círeth shouted back.

Aderthon bounced a now crying Tinneth up and down to try to silence her as the arguing continued. He desperately shushed his baby sister.

Suddenly the twins came to blows. Círeth smacked her sister's arm in anger.

Míril narrowed her eyes. Instantly they all shut up, including, to Aderthon's amazement, Tinneth. They waited to see what she would say.

"Círeth!" Miril glared at her daughter. "We do _not_ hit one another, is that understood!"

"But-"

"Silence!" Miril narrowed her eyes and Círeth's mouth shut tight.

Aderthon was the only one to notice Elladan and Elrohir standing in the entrance to the room behind Míril, curious expressions on their identical faces.

Miril took a deep breath before continuing. "Tinneth is a baby. She doesn't know better. It's only mud."

Círeth's face, red from anger, didn't change. But she nodded, agreeing because she had to. She knew better. Tinneth _absolutely_ knew what she was doing. She _always_ targeted Círeth.

"Apologize to your sister." Miril told her. When Círeth didn't, she hissed out a command. "Now!"

"My apologies," Círeth told her twin.

Miril nodded. "Now. Go wash yourself. And then stay in your room."

Círeth looked at her indignantly but did as she was told. Fëalas followed her to wash up as well before taking a much needed nap.

"Aderthon, thank you for babysitting your sisters." Miril sighed and took Tinneth from his arms. "You can go find Eldarion now if you want to."

He smiled. "Thank you, Ami."

Aderthon took off out the door to find his best friend. Miril turned to watch him go and found Elladan and Elrohir in the doorway.

"Nice work, Ami," Elrohir teased, coming over and giving her a kiss.

Elladan chuckled as he took Tinneth from his sister in law. "Let me take care of this little monster."

Miril sighed. "Don't call her that."

"You know it's a joke," Elrohir shook his head.

But Míril frowned. "It reminds me too much of the words Ulmo spoke to me at her birth."

They all grew silent and somber. Only they three knew of what Miril spoke. They alone knew of the warning the Lord of Waters had given to Miril. He had warned her that Tinneth's spirit burned too hot. That they had to be careful.

"She will be fine, _melda_ ," Elrohir insisted gently, resting his chin on her head and pulling her close.

Miril nodded into his chest. She had to believe that. She _had_ to believe that. As she looked into the eyes of her youngest child, she felt only love, and fear for her future. If she was indeed too filled with Fëanor's fiery spirit, who knew what kind of trouble she could get into when she was older.

"Now come," Elrohir smiled, pulling away from her and rubbing her arms. "My brother is here to watch the children so that we may spend some time together."

Miril smiled at Elladan as he held Tinneth. "It is _much_ appreciated."

Elladan nodded. "Get going you two."

"I figured we do a little practice in the yards," Elrohir told his wife.

She grinned and nodded. Miril walked to her bedroom. After changing out of a dress, she grabbed her sword that lay in a wooden chest, and came back out. Elrohir had already been ready.

"Galmegil is itching for practice," Miril smiled as they walked out the door.

"Good." Elrohir nodded. "I hope you aren't getting rusty."

She drew her sword.

"Never."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End of The Other Ranger
> 
> Biggest thanks go to JRR Tolkien. God bless you, you wonderful man.
> 
> Silz.


End file.
